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pixiemage · 2 years

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Domino Effect - Part 5

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(After the beheading of the Red King comes a visit to the Hobbits in search of an alliance, as always...though things go a bit differently when the King isn't yet red and when he has other plans that he hasn't told his Hand about. Oh yeah, and Ren knows Martyn is stuck in a time loop, doesn't he?)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Listen, we can put off the whole beheading thing, alright?” he offered, watching Martyn over his sunglasses. “Let’s head inside and talk it over and maybe we can figure out a plan of action. Sound good?”

Martyn took a breath and a half-smile made its way onto his face.

“Sounds great, boss.”

“You’ve tried starting out with Team Crastle?”

“Yep,” Martyn muttered, popping the ‘p’. “They’re the first people I teamed up with after I tried going it without you.”

“Ah. Right. Er…you didn’t mention Grian and Scar…?”

“Nope.” At that, Martyn grimaced and paused his pacing, casting a sideways glance toward where Ren was sitting on the bed against the wall. “Like I said, the voices don’t like Grian much. I’m pretty sure they killed me outright the one time I tried to join the Desert Monopoly.”

Ren frowned.

“Maybe you should talk to Grian about all this?” he suggested. “I mean, he’s clearly important to all this somehow, and he’s the admin, so–”

“Shit–” Martyn clamped his hands over his ears with a wince when the chorus of voices rose in outcry against that idea. He scowled. “Nope! No, not happening. No way.”

“Oh, geez dude, you okay?” Ren asked, starting to get to his feet, but Martyn quickly waved him away.

“It’s fine,” he bit out. “Just the bloody voices. Void can they get loud. Assholes.”

“Alright, so…not Grian,” Ren nodded slowly, sinking back onto the bed again all while keeping a concerned eye on his teammate. “Maybe just Scar then? I mean - I don’t remember when he lost his first life, but if it was after you showed up at Renchanting, then maybe you can save him? Maybe Grian won’t team up with him?”

Martyn paused, pondering that. Ren…actually had an interesting idea there. Martyn had never attempted to separate any team besides his own. Separating himself and Ren had created some interesting balance shifts in battles…so perhaps, if Scar was alone on Monopoly Mountain or if Grian turned to another team for the entirety of the game, it would create some pretty substantial waves in the timeline. After all, together Scar and Grian had always been a pretty formidable pair. A part of Martyn wondered if maybe that would be the key to ending the loop…but another part of him dreaded having to go through another dozen runs just to figure out if the breaking of the duo would even work. He hummed thoughtfully.

“That’s not bad,” he told Ren. “Though I wouldn’t mind coming up with other ideas before the ol’ all-powerful gods in my head decide to up and dump me in a new timeline again.”

“Ah - yeah, that might be best,” Ren agreed, the thought making him look uneasy. “Er…the Hobbits. You said you’ve teamed with them before too?”

“Oh, yeah, few times,” Martyn nodded. He finally gave up on pacing and dropped onto the bed next to Ren, dragging his hands over his face. It was still late, still completely dark out, seeing as the whole sacrificial-altar thing had been meant to happen beneath the full moon. Exhaustion was beginning to creep into the edges of his thoughts but he refused to give in just yet. “Er…yeah. We gained an alliance with them a few times, and I spent a dozen or so timelines by joining them at the start.” He smiled wryly. “Funny, how I ended up on the same team as you for a few of those as well. The King and the Hobbits, joined up by yours truly from both ends of the equation.”

“Really?” Ren grinned. “Did we work well together?”

“Er…yeah, pretty well,” Martyn mused. He let himself fall back across the bed, his feet on the floor and his eyes tracing cracks in the stone above his head. “I mean - Scott’s a hell of a fighter when he wants to be, and they had access to better potions than we do. It was kind of nice hanging with Timmy too, even if he tended to die a bit quicker than the rest.”

He went quiet for a moment, remembering. A foggy memory lingered at the edge of his awareness, something about Jimmy and Hobbiton and the lake and a night sky…

“It was quieter,” Martyn found himself saying, the words soft and nostalgic. “Especially when I was livin’ with them. Peaceful, almost, between battles anyway. Their base is kind of secluded and safe from the rest of the havoc on the server, and being around Jimmy always made the voices quieter.”

“It did?” Ren’s questioning voice dragged Martyn back to the present, making him aware enough to see the gears spinning behind Ren’s eyes and to hear the quiet, disgruntled murmuring of the voices at the back of his mind. Something about what he’d just said was upsetting them somehow, though he couldn’t fathom what it could be.

“It…what?” he asked, frowning. “What did what?”

“You said–” Ren turned on the bed, drawing a bent leg up onto the mattress so he could face Martyn better. “You said being around Jimmy made the voices quieter.”

Martyn blinked at him, confused.

“I did?”

“Uh - yes?” Ren cocked his head to the side, his ears twitching and his eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you did. Just now.”

“I…” Martyn stared, bemused. “What are you talking about?”

Something shifted behind Ren’s gaze, his worry compounding into something sharper, something more calculating. He opened his mouth, closed it, and let his eyes cast out over the cave they were sat in.

“You said we worked well with the Hobbits in other timelines, right?” Ren asked, and the sudden shift in topic and the forced casual tone of his words through Martyn for a loop. He sat up, squinting at Ren questioningly for a tick or two before huffing out a breath.

“Er, yeah. I s’ppose. I was getting close to a decent run before I jumped off the wall.”

“Before you–” Ren blinked at him, a question clearly on his tongue, but he seemed to shake it away. “Well if you want to postpone me turning red, maybe we should build up allies. You said Scott was a good fighter. Maybe we can talk to him in the morning and see if he has any ideas on how to win this thing, you know what I’m sayin’?”

Martyn knew Ren well. He had spent countless runs at the man’s side and he knew when Ren was hiding something from him. But for all that he wanted to be annoyed with his supposed partner for keeping secrets when tonight Ren had been hell-bent on proving their loyalties to each other (prior to Martyn’s earth-shattering admittance at the altar), Martyn was simply too exhausted right now to pursue it. He’d have to pester Ren about it in the morning, but for now he simply sighed and ran a hand through his hair, remembering belatedly that he’d have to retrieve his headband from the carrot fields in the morning.

“...yeah,” he muttered, pushing himself upright with a stifled yawn. “Y-Yeah, that - sure. At the very least, something’ll change since you’re not the Red King just yet. I’m game to try that out at least once.”

Ren was eyeing him still, calculating and curious, but the comment brought the quirk of a smile to Ren’s lips.

“You’ve never tried to stop me at the altar before?”

“I - no.” Martyn blinked up at him. “No, I haven’t. Either I wanted to prove my loyalty to you, or - I dunno - I s’ppose either Skizz or Etho just went along with it whenever I wasn’t on your team.”

“Skizz and Etho?” Ren cocked his head to the side.

“Oh - yeah, they–” Martyn snorted, the sound coming out tired. He bent down to take off his boots. “Whenever I wasn’t the Hand to the King, it was one o’ them. Depended on the run, I guess. It was off-the-walls surreal, let me tell you. I reckon I’m a better Hand than either o’ them would be, any day of the week.”

“Well Etho’s never been the most invested person when it comes to roleplay,” Ren admitted with a chuckle. “He has fun with it, sure, but I like that you’re willing to go all-in on my crazy ideas.”

At that, Martyn’s grin widened and he shot Ren a pair of finger guns with a click of his tongue.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, boss.”

Heading over to the Hobbits the next morning was strange, in Martyn’s opinion. He hadn’t really bothered wondering why Ren wanted to do so in the first place, because it was normally their first stop after Ren’s beheading in timelines past. The difference here being, of course, that Ren wasn’t red. Normally Ren and Martyn (or Ren and Skizz, or Ren and Etho) would go on a server tour after the rise of the Red King in an effort to collect offerings and allies in exchange for loyalty and the protection of Dogwarts. This trip held no red banners and there was no message Ren was trying to send. No, this time they were reaching out with more friendship than ferocity, something that made Martyn feel like he was looking into a funhouse mirror with how similar yet not the whole situation was.

Part of the surreality sat in the fact that Martyn seemed to be doing more of the talking than Ren this time around. He supposed he could chalk it up to Ren being on yellow instead of red - he knew full well that being red messed with peoples’ heads - but it still felt odd. He and Ren were perched on stepping stones in the middle of the Hobbits’ little lake with Scott staring at them judgingly from the shoreline and Jimmy - like always - nowhere in sight. It was how this conversation always began, even if the dialogue was going a little differently this time.

“You want to be allies?” Scott repeated, raising an eyebrow at them and folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t know if you realize this, but Scar and Grian came over and offered us the same thing yesterday. Last I heard you two weren’t exactly on friendly terms with them.”

“They offered you an alliance after they blew up Jimmy?” Martyn asked, eyebrows raised.

He knew full well that they had done so - he had lived with the Hobbits for a series of runs, after all, and Grian and Scar had graced their doorstep in every run without fail if Jimmy was caught up in the bombing of Dogwarts. (They didn’t seem to bother stopping by with their first offering of allyship unless Jimmy died, and during runs where Martyn steered the Hobbits toward accepting Ren’s banner, the Sand People didn’t bother coming by at all to offer it the second time.) But regardless, Martyn knew the Desert Duo must have been here the day before, he just had to pretend that he didn’t.

“Well, technically, Jimmy got himself blown up,” Scott drawled, amused and adoring, in a what-am-I-gonna-do-with-him sort of way. He and Martyn exchanged a smirk before the bluenet carried on. “But anyway, they apologized. Jimmy wasn’t the target of that TNT minecart, you two were.”

“Oh, come off it, you heard Grian’s laugh,” Martyn shot back, rolling his eyes. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the desert. “The madman was enjoying the chaos, and he didn’t care who got caught up in it. He killed three people, on green, for Scar, and he loved every second of it.”

“Oi! What’s goin’ on out here?”

Right on cue, Martyn thought, watching Jimmy emerge from a door he knew led down to the zombie spawner. The red player looked a bit worse for wear, his skin grayed out with lingering residue from the explosion marring his coloring. Martyn grinned.

“Hey Timmy!” he called out cheerfully. “Don’t mind us, we’re just pestering your husband.”

Almost immediately Jimmy was between them and Scott, his sword drawn and his eyes alight. It seemed that even if Ren wasn’t red, Jimmy would always be ready to defend Scott in this game.

“No, Jimmy, it’s fine–”

“I’m - I’m stickin’ up for you!” Jimmy insisted, cutting off Scott’s quiet protests.

The echo of another timeline - “My red could beat up your red any day!” - whispered at the back of Martyn’s thoughts, and he brushed it aside. They weren’t challenging the Hobbits this time around. They were trying to befriend them. Right?

“Ah, Jimmy!” Ren grinned, waving. “Just the man I wanted to see. D’you mind if we have a word in private?”

…wait, what?

“What?” Martyn blinked and eyed Ren questioningly, and the voices began to chatter in the back of his mind, though they felt oddly muted. (They always felt oddly muted here.) He felt as though it should be more of a familiar sensation than it was. He also had the sneaking suspicion Ren’s abandonment of the plan had something to do with whatever he had been keeping his lips sealed about the night before. “Ren, what–?”

“You’re not talking to Jimmy alone,” Scott said sharply, glaring at them both from across the water. “You might not be red, but that didn’t stop Grian from killing three people.”

Jimmy spluttered out a protest.

“Can’t I speak for myself? I’m not incompetent–”

“I never said you were. I’m just sticking up for you.”

“You - don’t use my own words against me!”

“Ren,” Martyn repeated, grabbing Ren’s shoulder before the other man could hop off across the water like it seemed he was about to do. “What are you doing? This wasn’t part of the plan!”

“You said the voices were quieter when Jimmy was around,” Ren told him, his words sharp and a little exasperated, his smile dropping. “You told me that, and then you forgot you’d even said it. And you said that they probably killed you for trying to team up with Grian a few timelines ago, right? And when I said you should tell Grian the truth and ask for help, you got a crazy headache because they didn’t agree with that plan. Right?”

“I–” Martyn blinked, wincing against the muffled uproar that flooded his head with each word Ren spoke. He hissed and clutched at his head, though - just as Ren had said - it was quieter than he was sure it normally would have been. It was quieter, and if Ren was right, it was because Jimmy was nearby. Regardless, it took him by surprise and he swayed on the spot where he was perched on the stepping stone, Ren’s hands grabbing at his arms to keep him steady. “I…maybe? It’s - I can’t really remember–”

“...what voices?”

Martyn fought against his headache and glanced across the water to see Jimmy giving him a wide-eyed look, ignoring Scott’s groping hand as the other player tried to tug him back to the shore.

“Jimmy, it could be a trap,” Scott insisted on a hiss, tension around his eyes. “You’re red. I don’t want to lose you–”

“Scott, it’s fine,” Jimmy insisted. He shook off his husband’s grip and jumped to the next stepping stone. His focus snapped back to the members of Dogwarts, concern etched in his features. “What voices?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Martyn heard himself say, the words leaving him unbidden while Ren let out a frustrated huff of exasperation.

“Martyn–”

“Ren said voices, I heard him.” Jimmy frowned, and recognition sharpened his eyes. “It’s not the Listeners, is it?”

Martyn stilled. Something about this conversation was familiar, too familiar.

“The what now?” The words left him without his full control. What was happening?

“The–” Jimmy lost his footing and yelped, scrambling to find balance again while Scott cried out behind him. He lept to the next stepping stone, a larger one, and once he was balanced he faced Martyn straight-on with a strange look on his face. “You know, back in Evo? The Listeners. They spoke to us, remember?”

“I’ve got no idea what you’re on about, Timmy.”

Martyn felt Ren’s hold on his arm tighten slightly and he saw Scott go pale in the background, quiet swearing in a thick accent filling the air as the blue-haired player dragged a hand over his mouth. (A stray recognition crossed Martyn’s mind, the realization that Jimmy must have told Scott about Them for him to be reacting like this, though who They were or what even needed telling both seemed to elude him. There was something significant happening here, he just wasn’t sure what.)

“This - this isn’t part of the game, is it?” Scott asked on a breath, his eyes wide and seeking out Ren’s. Beside Martyn, Ren shook his head.

“Definitely not.”

“Martyn, what do you mean you don’t–” Jimmy’s puzzled expression darkened and a tension appeared around his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you remember about Evo?”

“What d’you mean, what do I remember?” Martyn spluttered incredulously. He tugged out of Ren’s hold, nearly losing his footing in the process but not going down. The voices in his head were still chattering, still annoyed, but they seemed to be getting quieter and quieter with each step Jimmy was taking across the lake. “Evo - it’s one of the first servers we joined together, you nutter. Grian made it. You and Big B were a part of it, and Grian’s friend Pearl, and Taurtis, and–”

Martyn’s head throbbed painfully.

–and Taurtis went missing, and Grian did too, and we were sure They were behind it - so sure but no proof - and then Someone came along to protect us from Them, and while the rest of us escaped nobody knew what had happened to Grian or Taurtis or where they had gone, until Grian appeared in Hermitcraft one day as if nothing had happened, but something had changed - everything had changed - and–

“No, Martyn, I mean–” Jimmy was running a hand through his hair now, the gray-blond strands awry and his expression strained. “Do you remember the Watchers?”

The name sent a shiver down Martyn’s spine. For a moment - for a brief moment - dread and terror flooded him, his fight-or-flight on the verge of kicking in. He had been here before. This had happened before. They had said these things, felt these things, all before. Hadn’t they? Then a tidal wave of calm threatened to wash it all away, tried to clear it from his thoughts as easily as breathing, but he clung to his unease. He clung to it desperately and his breath hitched and he searched Jimmy’s face. The Watchers? What Watchers? He had to know–

“The…the what?” he whispered hoarsely.

Jimmy let out a strangled sort of sound, one of distress, and he jumped one stepping stone closer so he was right in front of the other former member of Evo.

“The Watchers,” he repeated, insistent. “They - they ruined everything on Evo. How do you not remember…?”

A grayed hand reached out for him, chilled fingers closing around his bare wrist, and it felt as though the air had been knocked from Martyn’s lungs. Something seemed to explode inside him, his thoughts clearing like the aftermath of a storm and mental aches he didn’t know he had were dispelled in an instant. The voices - the voices, the ever-present voices that had been tormenting him for years - went impossibly silent, their presence blocked off in a way they never had been before.

It was as if Martyn’s head was clear for the first time in an eon, as if he felt more fully himself for the first time in far too long. Then memories flooded in, things he didn’t even know he had forgotten, memories from Evo that Jimmy kept trying to remind him of, Listeners and Watchers and oh god, they’d talked about this before, by this lake, and he’d been killed for it and Grian, Grian returning from captivity after Evo like a man resurrected, reuniting with all of them and admitting - months after his return - what They had turned him into.

“It’s not all of them,” he had been quick to reassure. “The ones who were watching over Evo at the start were kind. The ones who found me, who took me - the ones who took over Evo after I was gone - they’re the worst sort imaginable…” and “Taurtis is okay, by the way. He’s a Watcher now too, but unlike me he ended up with the right sort…”

“Jimmy…” Martyn choked out, eyes wide and distant as far too many puzzle pieces began to click into place. “Jimmy, I think - I think the server’s in danger.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[A/N: WOOOO PLOT! This story is getting so much longer than I meant for it to, but I'm having a BLAST writing it so I can't complain! Also...some loose Evo canon manipulation lol. Creative liberties might be taken because I haven't actually seen Martyn's POV - only Grian's - so I had to do some quick research to at least TRY to base it off of what happened in the series. Soooo cut me some slack if it's not quite right lol]

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#3rd Life SMP #3rd Life FanFic #Trafficblr #Traffic Life SMP #3Lsmp #Martyn InTheLittleWood #InTheLittleWood #RentheDog #Renchanting Duo #Watcher Lore #Listener Lore #Evo SMP #Pixiemage Writes #Domino Effect #Time Loops

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years

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There's a lot of villain Scar stories. And rightfuly so, they are amazing. But can we get Scar angst about how scared and hurt he actually was after loosing his first life? Pretty please?

i am very guilty of casting Scar as the villain in a lot of my stories lol so this should be interesting

…

The last thing Scar remembers is a loud explosion.

Then he wakes up back at the world spawn and he realises he must have died.

He checks chat. Sure enough, there’s a death notification.

GoodTimeWithScar was blown up by creeper

The chat is filled with messages reacting to his death but Scar’s vision has gone blurry and he can’t read them.

He frantically checks the small heart imprinted on his neck. It’s yellow now. It was green only two minutes ago.

Scar’s heart starts to pound out of his chest. It’s been only a few hours since they arrived here and he’s already died once. What even happened?! He doesn’t remember seeing a creeper around. Surely someone would have warned him if they’d seen a creeper sneaking up on him, right? Right?

“Scar!” comes a voice in the distance.

Scar looks up to find Grian running towards him, face red from exertion. He skids to a halt in front of him. “Scar, I’m so sorry! I didn’t think you would die! I thought you’d move in time!”

“W-Wait, wait, what?” Scar blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I-I lured the creeper over to you,” confesses Grian. “I’m sorry! It was just a prank, I swear, and I thought you’d get out of the way!”

“I didn’t see a creeper! I was just listening to Martyn and I-.” Scar breaks off as a thought occurs to him. “Wait, why didn’t Martyn see the creeper?”

Grian grimaces and hangs his head. “Um… He did. And so did Tango and Etho and I think Impulse as well.”

“Wh-Why didn’t they warn me?!”

“I-I… I don’t know.”

Scar’s vision starts to swim again. Not only did one of his best friends cause his death but at least four people saw it coming and nobody warned him.

“Scar, I really am sorr-.”

“Stop saying that!” Scar cries, struggling to his feet. “Get away from me! Murderer!”

Grian blanches. “Scar-!”

But Scar takes off running away from him, into the forest. He keeps going, ignoring the burning in his lungs, until finally, he reaches a stretch of river on the edge of the forest. Skidding down a hill, he locates an overhang in the landscape and darts under it. He huddles under the overhang, his entire body shaking. His mind is a mess with swirling thoughts.

He died. He’s on his second life already. His best friend caused his death. Some of his other friends watched it happen and did nothing to stop it.

Scar has never been so terrified in his life. He knows he dies a lot on Hermitcraft - the others tease him about it a lot - but deaths matter here. He’d been so confident that he would survive for a long time. But now, he’s lost one of his lives already.

Thanks to the actions of his so-called best friend.

Scar curls up in a ball and cries. How can he trust anyone right now, when half the server saw his death coming and said nothing?

He’s never felt so alone before.

After what feels like hours, he hears Grian’s voice from somewhere above and behind him, calling desperately for him. “Scar! Where are you?! Scar, please, let me make it up to you! I’ll do anything! Please!”

Scar’s panic-addled brain starts to think. Grian seems awfully willing to earn Scar’s forgiveness, to the point where he would “do anything”. Scar has never been known as a devious person, but he’s starting to formulate a plan. He’s on yellow but Grian is green AND he now owes him. He can use this to his advantage.

So he climbs out from under the overhang, just as Grian appears on the hill to his right. “Scar!” Grian calls, spotting him. “Scar, are you okay? P-Please, hear me out!”

Scar takes a deep breath. Although the mere sight of Grian is enough to make his stomach churn right now, he forces it aside and says, “I’m listening.”

Grian pauses briefly to compose himself. “Scar, I swear, I never thought you would die for a moment. It’s our first day in this world; I wouldn’t have tried to kill you deliberately so soon. I just thought it would be funny to have a creeper go off in the middle of everyone and see you all scatter but it never occurred to me that someone wouldn’t be able to get out of the way.”

Scar considers this for a moment. “Alright. I’ll make you a deal. Since you took my first life, you owe me yours.”

Grian blinks. “What?”

“Until you lose your first life, you will stay with me as my “assistant” of sorts and you have to do as I say.”

“I… uh… That seems a bit...”

“Well, I mean, the alternative is I kill you right here and now.”

“Okay, okay, I accept the deal. I accept your terms.”

Scar beams. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

“Great! Welcome aboard.”

#3rdlifesmp #goodtimeswithscar #grian #vaunna’s requests

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filisaceaf · 6 years

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oof ok i have a lot so you can choose (phan aus for the headcanons ask): detective au (one or both of them), au where dan is still a fan/never met phil in 2009, supernatural au (one of them is not human), x-men-type mutants au, hogwarts au (i had to :p)

You wanted only one AU you said? I’m sorry, Phan is my hyperfocus of the month so it looks like you win the headcannons of 3/5 the AUs and you know what? I’m not even sorry my homie.

This is long so I threw it under a cut.

Detective AU

1. Okay so, one would think Dan is the detective with his charming good looks who could get him into locations easily and charm people but Phil is actually a great detective because even though he’s tall, he just lives his life wanting to help people find something lost or someone missing or make sure people are not being unfairly treated. Dan is more his handler, part secretary (look someone needs to make sense of Phil’s notes, file them in a way that makes sense and is easily accessible to other people, and make sure Phil doesn’t overwork himself into a migraine like he has the past three weeks) and part paralegal at Phil’s little detective agency. He is very protective of his boss.

2. Phil loves being a detective. He doesn’t like to “spill tea” on clients like some people like to think he does, but he likes helping 80 year old women who were robbed get their wedding rings back or help someone find their missing child (he wishes those cases turned out a lot better than they usually do, but at the very least he helps people begin to grieve). He likes helping find justice and is actually pretty particular about what cases he’ll take. He hates doing cases about people thinking their spouses are cheating and really he does those if he’s desperate to make sure that he can pay Dan and his bills.

3. You can pry this one from my cold dead hands but Phil definitely has a corgi named Watson that he likes to dress up in plaid. Watson comes to the office with Phil because of long hours and has a little bed under Phil’s obnoxiously large desk that he bought specifically so he could have a bed for Watson there. Phil likes to pretend he’s hurt by Watson also curling up under Dan’s desk (but really he just goes soft for Dan’s voice going high pitched and “hello Watson”).

4. Dan is not a lawyer in the AU, but he did complete a paralegal program! As a paralegal, Dan can do legal research for anyone, but usually he does it for any jobs Phil did that end up needing to go to court. He can also draft legal documents and is also a notary; he just can’t legally represent anyone in court. Dan likes to joke that he is a slacker to the fact that “I’m a lawyer, but the bare minimum of one”. They met at college when Phil was in his last year of majoring in criminal justice and media studies and Dan was still on the track to wanting to be a lawyer. He took a gap (period) of years, had an existential crisis, became better friends with Phil during that time. Phil originally started his detective agency with another partner and when they left, Dan took over the secretarial side of things. It took him a few years, but he eventually went back to school to finish his paralegal certificate and Phil cheered the loudest at his graduation ceremony.

5. I don’t know how these two get together in the AU, but just know it is a slow burn. Like literal years and months and eons of mutual pining with them taking Watson on walks and late nights at the office and shared coffee runs and Dan always being scared Phil is going to do something super dangerous for his health like climb in a vent or park to close to a gangster’s house and get shot. After they get together, they do agree that Dan should get a another job because working together and living together with Phil’s unpredictable schedule was causing some fights for a long period of time (because they didn’t live together before this point). Dan does still stop by pretty often and double check the secretaries work and curl up in the corner of the sofa of Phil’s office (“Dan’s sofa crease” Phil affectionately calls it) and work on stuff for his other job at a nonprofit for mental health awareness.

Dan is a Fanboy and Literally the Biggest Philly AU (The barely alternate timeline tbh)

1. So, this is literally always my favorite kind of AU and I have a lot of soft feelings about these boys always managing to find each other somehow. But yes, Dan got discouraged after the like 100th time of subtweeting Phil and commenting on his videos and not getting a response, he never reached out to Phil for editing tips. Instead!!! He reaches out to a few other YouTubers years later when he’s going through his existential crisis and he’s like “you know, the last time i was happy was when I on YouTube all the time”. So he takes a gap year in university to try and see if it’s something he likes doing. He was not expecting for his channel to be well received. It takes him ages to figure out the jumpcut thing.

2. Because he never got to know Phil as young as he did, when they first meet at Summer In the City, Dan is actively trying not to lose his shit. Because holy fuck. This is Amazing Phil. This is the guy who he would play in the background while he studied and would donate so much on live streams and upvote and fuck he’s wearing some OG Phil merch with Lion on it. He walks around all day with his jacket zipped up because Phil can’t know he’s a fan; Phil is so smart and creative and funny and god. He’s completely turned upside down when Phil sees him and approaches him because “you’re danny’s snot on fire, right?”

Dan never regretted a username more in HIS LIFE and this exact moment lead to his rebranding months later

3. But they exchanged contact information and eventually did a collab video: Phil is Not on Fire. And they whole time, Dan is trying not to breathe too deep or do anything annoying because he’s in Phil’s bedroom??? His filming area??? His pants are on the floor like two feet away??? And when the tackle happens, Dan hopes he didn’t get a concussion and hallucinated the whole thing because Phil is warm and grinning at him with his tongue sticking out and holy shit, this is better than any video, gif, screen redraw, anything. Seeing it up close???

4. Phil doesn’t even notice Dan’s a fan until him and Jimmy do a ‘What’s in my tumblr tag?’ and Dan’s blog comes up with some Phil gif reblogs from back in the day and Phil just messages Dan screenshots. Dan is mortified. He’s going to delete his tumblr. He’s not Tyler (not that Tyler is bad, they’ve messaged a few times, but Dan’s not a /fanboy/ ((lmao he is))). Phil just giggles on the video and says that Dan is such a nice guy. Kind of. Definitely cheats at Mario Kart. Dan is literally going to die, this is the second best day of his life

5.They get together when they are both traveling for Playlist Live and they hook up at a party one of the nights there. Dan would be mortified if he didn’t wake up and Phil was still there. He didn’t take off in the middle of the night; he’s wrapped around Phil and Phil is mumbling under his breath about how Dan needs to stop moving and just sleep. Their coming out video is on Dan’s Channel and is Titled “I’m still #1 phil trash” which is a throw back to a privated video called “#1 phil trash” where it’s Dan talking about how talented and funny and inspirational Phil Lester is for six minutes because someone had asked him on Formspring who one of his idols was .

Hogwarts AU

1. Phil is from a magical household and his brother is a squib with a banging music career. Maybe it’s latent magic? Either way, Martyn is a sick af dj and Phil loves it when it’s time for summer vacation because he can visit Martyn in London and see some shows (he can’t go every night) or just wander around during the day with Martyn’s girlfriend Cornelia, who graduated from Durmstrang Institute, while Martyn sleeps off a late night show. Martyn being a Squib leads him to take Muggle Studies though because he wants to be able to connect with the world Martyn lives in and someday, at the rate technology is expanding, he is going to have to leave the isolating wizarding world.

2. Dan is from a muggle family and it shows in the tenacious way he fights to be accepted by his fellow Slytherins. Every O on an assignment he gets is validation, because see I belong here, I’m one of you, I may not have families who can trace their magic past Bloody Mary or past the plague, but I am still one of Merlin’ people. He isn’t a braggart though; it’s more of an internal validation until someone asks him for help in a subject.

3. Phil first really approaches Dan in his second year. He brought a hamster to Hogwarts (look, they’ve gotten relatively relaxed since Harry defeated the Dark Lord and the Peter Pettigrew Incident) and didn’t realize she was pregnant. The hamster had five babies and Phil remembered the lonely looking Slytherin who sat at the back of three of their house’s shared classes and thought “the boy needs a friend” so he gives Dan one of the babies. Dan names her Suki and spends so much time trying to make her happy.

4. Dan and Phil first kiss in Hogsmeade towards the end of their sixth year. Because look, these boys are magical but you can’t expect magic to help them get a clue. But they are sitting one one of the benches in town during early March and sipping Butterbeer and Phil just looks over and knows he has to kiss Dan. It’s a biological need. And it’s a good first kiss, warm and syrupy from the butterbeer.

5. Look I love Phil but I’m 99% sure Phil is someone who splinches when he Apparates. He leaves behind clothes more often than not, but there was one instance he left behind his left hand. Dan is fond, but it definitely explains the 20000 socks just lying around the flat they get after graduating.

#phan au #hogwarts au #detective au #dan is a philly confirmedau #phan headcannons

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petnews2day · 2 years

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Fear grows with Ystradgynlais dog walkers after 'poisoning'

New Post has been published on https://petnews2day.com/?p=50069

Fear grows with Ystradgynlais dog walkers after 'poisoning'

Concern is mounting that dogs are being ‘deliberately poisoned’ in Ystradgynlais following reports that one pet has died and eight more have suffered from extreme vomiting and diarrhoea after walking a stretch of footpath near the playing fields.

Now residents are demanding an urgent investigation into the cause of the dogs’ illness to prevent further deaths from occurring.

“When I walked through town on my way to work this morning, I didn’t pass a single dogwalker, which is exceptional,” commented Cllr Martyn Shrewsbury.

“This whole situation has got to be looked into and resolved.

“If something unacceptable was found on my land, then I’d be responsible for sorting it out. And exactly the same thing has to happen with these reports of the alleged poisonings.”

MORE NEWS

The first case was reported around 12 weeks ago.

“But sadly, this wasn’t just a one-off,” explained Cllr Shrewsbury.

“On June 1, a family sadly lost their dog after watching their child play rugby on the town’s rugby field.

“They took their dog with them and walked it along the nearby footpath but sadly the dog became ill shortly afterwards with sickness and diarrhoea.

“But within two days he had blood in his poo and sadly died on Saturday morning.”

Two days later another dog walker discovered pellets which were reported to have been placed in three different locations along the same path, which is near to the Ystradgynlais playing fields.

As a result of the growing concern, Ystradgynlais Town Council has agreed to discuss the issue in an open public meeting this Thursday, (June 16) at 6.30pm.

Ystradgynlais dog walkers are avoiding the town centre following fears of poisoning

Meanwhile a new Facebook group has been set up called ‘Dog Walkers of Ystradgynlais and the Swansea Valley’ enabling them to report any concerns and warn other dog owners of new pellet discoveries.

Less than a day after being launched, the group already had over 240 members.

“And this speaks for itself,” said Martyn Shrewsbury.

“Because of the growing concern throughout the town, I’ve now raised the matter with the police.

“Something has got to be done before another family has to deal with the death of their dog or before another dog has to deal with this unnecessary suffering”.

If anyone is concerned about the problem they are asked to contact PC Rachel Williams on 01267 222020, extension 54681 or email her on [email protected]

Source link

#Dog News

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realityisnoplacetolive · 7 years

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Lost In Translation | Phandom Big Bang

Author: realityisnoplacetolive

Artist: @themessafterthemarty (the art is awesome omg)

Beta: @always-okay-katie (thank you so much for all your help!!)

Word count: 11k

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Summary: In a world in which everyone is born with their soulmate’s first words to them tattooed somewhere on their body, it would seem that loneliness is finally cured. But Phil Lester has a problem. His tattoo is in a language he can’t speak.

A/N: Additional thanks to @awesomesockes, for being Danish and therefore occasionally helpful in the endeavor :p And to Gina, for giving me really awesome advice about pacing, which i was too stubborn to actually implement, but I appreciated nonetheless <3 (you tried)

His situation wasn’t exactly common, but it wasn’t unheard of either. Phil’s mum often tried to assure him of this - he wasn’t the first person on Earth to have a language barrier between him and his soulmate. But that was easy for her to say, when she was born with the words ‘Have you got a partner for the assignment yet?’ tattooed in neat script across her collarbone. Phil’s father had asked her this question at the start of year five, and despite the response she’d given him of ‘Sorry, Charlie’s just asked me’, the two had been fast friends ever since. Those five words covered his dad’s left calf, and he often teased his wife about how her first words to him were rejection.

But Phil Lester would’ve given anything for something as simple and direct as that. The twenty-two year old sighed at the foreign phrase printed across his right forearm for what felt like the millionth time.

“Yeah, well, beats mine anyway,” his older brother had assured him. Phil had to giggle, remembering the ‘Would you like to order drinks?’ tattoo on Martyn’s bicep.

As teens, a group of his brothers’ friends had started a sort of competition for who could find their soulmate fastest. Of course, it didn’t really work that way. The first meeting was something predetermined before birth; trying to rush fate was pointless. And while they believed that on some level, impatient young people were notorious for trying to manipulate their situations to make it happen a bit sooner.

Martyn’s friend, Jack, for example, had been born with the tattoo ‘Try not to move - it might be broken’. He’d taken it as an open invitation to try all kinds of extreme sports, from BMX biking to water skiing. By the age of seventeen, Jack had already broken eleven bones with no luck on the soulmate front. In the end, he’d had to trip over a rolled up floor mat and sprain his knee while walking into Asda before finally meeting Emma.

Not one to be outdone, poor Martyn had taken nearly every penny he’d earned from his summer job at a bowling alley and spent it trying out various restaurants and sneaking into bars. He’d get his hopes up with each new server, only to have them dashed again every time the waitress remained unphased by his drink order. Eventually, he’d made peace with it. He’d meet her when he’d meet her, and that was that.

But with a line like ‘Er det dine briller?’ inked into his skin, it seemed foolish for Phil not to prepare a little.

The phrase was in Danish: are these your glasses? Translating it had been the easy part - his parents had done that for him with the help of a Danish-English dictionary they’d purchased about a week after he was born (after first spending a few afternoons in the library determining the tattoo wasn’t German or Dutch or Swedish). What to do with that information next, however, was a little less obvious.

When Phil was little, having such a mark was almost a relief. Much like a child taking their first steps or graduating school, meeting one’s soulmate for the first time was considered such an important milestone in someone’s life that it wasn’t uncommon for parents to hover over their children’s first interactions with strangers, hoping to hear those magic words. But with Phil’s odds of simply bumping into his soulmate on the playground at next to nil, much of the pressure involved in making new friends was off. In a way, it was nice.

For his thirteenth birthday, Phil’s parents had bought him a ‘Teach Yourself Danish’ book series, complete with audio tapes to practice with. But after a few weeks of struggling to wrap his mouth around the foreign words, Phil’s enthusiasm dwindled and the series took up residence in the corner of his book shelf where it collected dust for years to come.

Phil was nineteen before things changed. He and one of his best friends, Amber, were spending the day at a funfair. She was eating candyfloss off a stick, while he was a very pale shade of green and trying his best to keep his lunch down after the Tilt-A-Whirl.

“Want a bite?” Amber said, offering the sugary pink substance to him. He grimaced and looked away. “Might help.”

“Doubt it.” He moved toward an empty bench a few feet away and sat down with a little groan, closing his eyes. Amber plopped down next to him, and they rested for a few minutes.

Phil had met Amber on the first day of sixth form. She was one of the very few girls Phil knew who didn’t place much stock in the soulmate system. Amber had a bit of a rebellious streak, and never shut up about how dumb she considered it that some unknown force in the universe was supposed to decide who she should spend her life with.

“When I do meet him, I bet I won’t even like him,” she often complained. “I feel sorry for the bloke, honestly.”

She’d gone out with several different guys throughout their school career, which had earned her a certain reputation with many of the other students in their year. She rarely ever did anything with these boys, she’d confided in Phil once, but she found everyone else’s assumptions about her fascinating. Plus, there was something so liberating about spending the evening sitting on the sofa, “wasting her time” - as her grandmother often chided - by getting to know someone who’d only leave her in the end.

“But that’s exactly the point,” Amber would argue back. “There’s no pressure this way - no promise of a future. Just right now.”

Honestly, Phil wished he could have such a flippant attitude about the whole matter. Amber was on a whole new level.

“You’re not gonna eat that?” a male voice interrupted Phil’s thoughts.

Phil’s eyes snapped open again, and he noticed a young man approaching them. Amber sat frozen with one arm reached out, just getting ready to drop the last bit of her candyfloss into the bin next to the bench. Phil’s heart leapt and he shot his friend a look of amazement.

“Why?” Amber replied to the stranger, a mixture of nervousness and excitement in her voice. “You starting a half-eaten candyfloss collection?”

“Holy fucking shit on a stick!” the stranger exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with the same excitement. “That’s my tattoo!”

Grinning, Amber lifted the leg of her jeans just enough to show the ‘You’re not gonna eat that?’ tattooed on her ankle. “And you?”

The stranger, with an even bigger smile, held out his forearm. “Half-eaten candyfloss collection! Who even says that?” He laughed. “I was worried I’d never find you! My name’s Matt by the way.”

As Phil walked along the rest of the day, listening to Amber and Matt chat excitedly several paces ahead, he began to understand the meaning of the term “third wheel”. He also resolved to sign up for Danish lessons as soon as he got home.

It was another three years before Phil finally got his chance to visit Denmark. Amber and Matt - now recently engaged and sharing a flat - had booked him tickets to Copenhagen as a part belated birthday, part ‘sorry that we found true love and ran off together while you’re over there all alone’ present. But he wasn’t about to be one to turn down a free trip, even one born out of pity.

Phil greatly increased his language studies in preparation. He’d found an internet proxy that allowed him to stream the Danish national television channels, and was thoroughly enjoying Danish X Factor. It turned out horrible talent show auditions were universal.

“So are you like, fluent now?” Martyn asked him that evening when he came to visit, the night before Phil set off. He stood in the doorway to Phil’s room with his arms crossed, leaning against the frame, as he observed his younger brother. Phil was sprawled out in his bed with his laptop, watching Huset på Christianshavn - a sitcom from the late 70s featuring an odd bunch of Danes living in an apartment complex who did an appalling amount of drinking and not much else.

“Uh, no. Not quite there yet,” Phil answered without looking up. That was an understatement - his eyes were currently glued to the rapidly moving subtitles, which gave him his only hope of comprehension.

“Ah, well, I’m sure you’ll do fine,” his brother said. He moved from the doorway and sat down on Phil’s desk chair. “Cornelia says hi by the way - she wanted to come along and send you off properly, but she’s got some huge chemistry exam tomorrow morning. Says her professor is a nightmare.”

Even just mentioning Cornelia’s name, Martyn’s face seemed to light up. Phil had noticed this with most of his friends who’d found their soulmates and a familiar pang of bitterness hit him. He swallowed it down before he spoke.

“It’s alright,” Phil said dismissively. “It’s not like I’m gone a year. Just six days.”

“Who knows,” Martyn grinned, “you might just be so smitten after you meet them that you decide to stay.”

The words struck a nerve. “You know, I wish everyone would stop putting all this pressure on me,” Phil snapped. “There’s no guarantee that I’m meeting anyone on this trip - there never is.”

“Hey man, it was just a joke…” Martyn tried.

“No, it’s not! It’s the one person that the universe has decided is compatible with my soul and I have to fly to bloody Denmark to even have a shot at meeting them!”

“That’s not true, you-”

But Phil cut him off. “All my friends are getting engaged or moving in together or just out having their own adventures because at least they know they have an equal chance of meeting their soulmate wherever they might end up, but here I am, preparing myself for my one chance to meet someone I won’t even be able to communicate with!”

He paused for a breath. It was as if a dam had been opened - now that all his worries were flooding out, he felt powerless to stop them. He went on, “And if this fails, then what? Wait to save up enough and try again? Move there? What if I don’t even like this stupid country?”

“They all speak English there,” his brother reminded. “They learn it from like, year one. They’ll probably be better than you.”

“But will they think English?” Phil asked, something akin to desperation in his voice. “Will they feel English? When we lay in bed and tell each other our deepest secrets, will their words come out effortlessly in English, or will it constantly be work for them to translate their every thought to a language not their own because I’m a piece of shit who was literally born with an assignment printed on his arm but put off studying for twenty-two years?!”

Hot tears were sliding down Phil’s face now. He slammed the laptop closed and pushed it aside before sitting up on the bed and pulling his knees up to his chest.

Martyn rose from the desk and moved over to sit next to Phil on the edge of the bed. He offered his shoulder, and his brother, grateful for the comfort, lay his head against it. “You are way overthinking this, mate,” Martyn said softly.

“I know…” Phil breathed back. And deep down, he did know. “It’s just…” He cut himself off with a sigh.

“Just what?” his brother prompted.

“Just… what if it all goes horribly wrong? You know, like Great Uncle Ronnie….”

Martyn rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Phil, your soulmate speaks Danish and you don’t. That man was born with the tattoo ‘Time of death: 7:46’ on his chest. Your situation is not even close to that level of depressing.”

“But what about-” Phil began.

“Enough,” Martyn cut in. “You have six days of free travel in a beautiful foreign country. For once in your life, let’s just forget about this whole soulmate business and focus on that. Can you manage that?”

Slowly, Phil nodded his head.

“Good.” Martyn ruffled his brother’s hair with his hand before turning to the empty suitcase lying on the floor. “Now let’s get you packed. And bring an umbrella - I just checked the weather and it looks like six solid days of rain.”

Phil let out a sigh. “Fantastic.”

Keeping his word to Martyn ended up not being nearly as difficult as Phil had imagined. There was plenty to do and see in Copenhagen besides soulmate searching. In four days’ time, Phil had already seen The Little Mermaid statue (which was significantly smaller than he’d imagined), visited two castles, explored Tivoli Gardens, gone for a canal tour, a bus tour, and a bike tour, and posed for his mandatory selfie in front of the capital guards.

But even with all the activities to occupy his time, he’d be lying if he said choosing to wear his glasses rather than contact lenses that week was just a coincidence, or that the few instances where he’d left those glasses sitting on restaurant tables or park benches had been complete accidents.

It turned out, most Danes kept to themselves. He was rarely spoken to by anyone, though one man did give a small cough and incline his head in the glasses’ direction. Phil had acknowledged him with a nod and gave a slight smile before retrieving them. Non-verbal interactions seemed to be Denmark’s speciality.

But finally, after several of these such attempts, a stranger fell for his bait. Phil had taken off his glasses and set them on the cafe table where he’d been sipping a latte. He’d walked halfway to the door, and was just about to complete his routine of acting as though he’d suddenly realized they were missing and backtracking to the table, when he heard a phrase that sent a chill down his spine.

“Excuse me, are those your glasses?”

Phil spun around excitedly at the words, but his eyes met those of a woman in her mid-fifties. She wasn’t exactly his type, but then again, platonic soulmates, though rare, were still a possibility…

“Mine b-briller?” he stuttered back, the words sounding all thick and wrong in his hopeless accent.

The woman looked puzzled. “Nå! Er du dansker?” she asked.

“…What?” Phil replied.

“I guess not.” The corners of her mouth turned up a bit into a smile. “I asked if you were Danish,” she explained, a slight accent to her voice. “I think you left your glasses on the table.”

“Oh, right, thanks,” he mumbled. Phil picked them up and stuffed them into his bag. He didn’t even need them at the moment - he was wearing his contacts anyway.

The woman was already moving to join the queue at the counter, and Phil considered just letting it go. But no, he’d come all this way; he had to be sure.

He hurried back over to her. “Sorry, excuse me?” he said quickly. She turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, I just have to ask something. When you asked me about the glasses the first time, were you speaking Danish or English?” He’d been so startled by her question before that he hadn’t even noticed.

She frowned. “English, wasn’t it? I saw the book you were holding, so I just assumed. Something wrong?”

Phil could’ve kicked himself. Of course. When carrying a book titled “Tourist in Copenhagen”, he wouldn’t look exceptionally Danish.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I guess I just got my hopes up for a second.” Feeling he owed her an explanation, Phil gave a small sigh and pushed his right jacket sleeve up to reveal his tattoo.

The woman squinted to make out the words, and then her expression instantly changed to one of understanding. “Nåh. I’m afraid I’m taken.” With a kind smile that crinkled up the corners of her eyes, she tugged down the top hem of her shirt just enough to expose the writing on her collarbone: Mine underbukser har fået hjemve. Then she held up her left hand and wiggled the fingers. The sunlight glinted off her wedding ring.

If she hadn’t been so sweet, Phil thought he might have died of embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, really. I’ll go now.” He spun around quickly toward the door.

“It’s alright!” she laughed after him. “And count your blessings - at least your tattoo doesn’t declare to all the world that your soulmate’s first words to you were that he had a wedgie.”

Even with his cheeks burning as they were, Phil had to giggle as he ducked out of the cafe and back to the walking street.

Despite his horrible luck on the soulmate front, Phil had managed to enjoy his time in Denmark for the most part.

Martyn had been wrong about the weather after all. Or, mostly right - it had been storming all morning, but the clouds above had parted in the last twenty minutes and the sun was shining brightly enough now that Phil stopped walking to shrug off his jacket and locate his sunglasses.

He’d just managed to free them from his bag when he felt some kind of strap hit the back of his knees, tripping him up. Three large, eager dogs had suddenly appeared on his right, accompanied by a woman on his left who was simultaneously riding a bike and struggling with one arm to hold on to three leather leashes, which were wrapping around the back of Phil’s legs. Two of the dogs crossed in front of Phil, twisting the leashes even further around his ankles and pulling both himself and the cyclist off balance. The bike toppled over, while Phil fell backwards, smacking the back of his head on the landing. Suddenly all five of them were lying on the pavement in a pile of tangled limbs and barking animals.

“Undskyld! Undskyld!” the woman apologized profusely, then proceeded to babble on. Context, plus the limited Danish he could comprehend, told him she was explaining something about how her dogs had gotten away from her, how she was terribly sorry about that, and then asking whether or not he was alright. Not wanting to cause a fuss, Phil simply nodded as they disentangled.

A headache was already building from the jolt. He slowly made his way up to standing and started brushing off his pant legs, which now had damp spots on the back where they’d touched the ground. His possessions were scattered over the street, and the woman, still rambling on in Danish, was hurriedly trying to help him gather everything again.

“Er det dine briller?”

But it hadn’t been the woman asking the question. A new voice had joined the mix. The words startled Phil and his heart leapt in his chest. He spun around to see another guy, late teens or early twenties, stooping down and holding out Phil’s sunglasses.

Are these your glasses? The words seemed to be sung in angel chorus. This was his moment. Phil Lester had had twenty-two years to come up with an answer to that question. He’d rehearsed in front of the mirror, night after night, what fluent Danish response he might say back. He had taught himself affirmative replies, negative replies, replies that were somewhere in the middle - hell, he’d even learned a pick up line or two.

Yet despite all that, when presented with the question that had been inked into his skin since the day he was born, Phil became a blubbering mess. “Ja!” he pointed to the glasses excitedly and then to himself. “Du er min!”

The stranger raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side curiously. “Snakker du til brillerne? Eller til mig?”

“…What?” Phil questioned. The stranger deposited the glasses into Phil’s open hand, looking amused. “Jeg snakker kun lidt dansk,” Phil admitted, using one of the first phrases he’d ever learned of this language: I don’t speak much Danish.

“Clearly,” the man snorted under his breath.

“Oh! Engelsk?” Phil squeaked hopefully. “You speak English?”

The man was grinning now. “I should hope so,” he replied. “Twelve years in the English public school system should have taught me that much.”

Phil’s world was spinning now. He brought a hand up to his head, which was throbbing. “Wait, does that mean… you’re not Danish?”

“God no,” the man snorted out a laugh. “I’m from Wokingham.”

“But you spoke…?” Phil trailed off, looking confused.

The stranger nodded, having grasped Phil’s not quite finished question. “My dad lives here, so I’ve been picking up the language. Plus there’s some online Danish program I do when I can be arsed to remember it.”

“Oh, me too I guess…” Phil mumbled. “Er, not the dad part. Just I’ve been trying to learn, I mean.” The cyclist had managed to gather the dogs and bike together again and was starting to limp away. He’d offer to help her, if he wasn’t also slowly dying himself.

“Cool,” the stranger remarked. His look changed to one of concern, as Phil had gone quite pale. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, just… my head…” Phil slurred, bringing his hand up to prod at the rapidly swelling lump. “I-I should sit down.” He glanced around desperately for a chair.

“Oh. Um…” After a second of hesitation, the man took Phil’s arm and guided him back into the cafe, and then into a booth. He disappeared and then reappeared a minute later with a bottle of water, which he offered awkwardly.

Phil gave him a small smile of gratitude and took the bottle before letting out a tiny groan. “This wasn’t how I planned this day to go.”

The man smiled kindly at him. “That’s life, isn’t it?” He extended his right hand. “I’m Dan, by the way. Dan Howell.”

“Phil,” Phil replied, shaking it. Clumsily, he reached into his pocket, mumbling, “I can pay you back for the water…”

“Oh, no.” Dan waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not everyday something like… this happens.” The words seemed to trip him up at the end.

Phil changed the subject. “You said your dad lives in Denmark?”

“Yeah, he works for an international shipping company,” Dan explained, perking right up. “I live with my mum though, back in England. But I usually come visit a few weeks every summer and every other Christmas.”

“I see…” Phil nodded, then regretted that as the throbbing in his head increased. “But you’re fluent in Danish?”

“Oh no, not even close,” Dan snorted. “I don’t even think most Danes are fluent. Have you heard this language? You might as well just cram a large vegetable down your epiglottis - that seems to be what it would take to choke out half their vowel sounds.”

Phil was starting to feel a little foolish now. He brought the water to his lips, but pulled it away again before taking a sip. “I… I’m sorry. I’m just having a little trouble taking all of this in. I think I hit my head when I fell. But you’re saying you’re not Danish? Not at all? Not even like, half?”

“I mean, if you go back a few generations on my dad’s side, there was a bit of scandal that may or may not have involved the Crown Prince, but nothing was ever confirmed….”

Phil nodded, slower this time. Again, he tried to take a drink of water, but the questions were bursting inside of him to get out. He set the still full bottle back down on the table. “Right, sorry, still trying to get this straight. You’re telling me that the last twenty-two years of my life have been a lie? That all along you were just some English bloke I could have met at home?”

Dan seemed to take offense at this. “Hey, I’m not just some Engli-”

Phil cut him off. “I-I planned my life around this! I picked a course at uni that I could transfer internationally! I learned Denmark’s history! I studied this bloody language - do you know how hard is it to find Danish courses in England?!”

“Actually, I do,” Dan replied stiffly, “but what has any of that got to do with-”

But Phil pressed on. “All the nights I spent lying awake, worried I wouldn’t be able to communicate with my… my soulmate -” He spat out the last word in disgust, “And… And now…”

At the mention of that word, Dan’s gaze shifted away; suddenly he appeared very interested in the salt and pepper shakers.

Phil stopped abruptly, feeling ashamed. He could understand Dan’s response. Personally, Phil had known he was bisexual since he was fifteen, so the fact that the universe had paired him with another male didn’t come as a complete shock to him. But he had no way of knowing yet where Dan stood on the matter. Regardless, he definitely wasn’t making the best first impression.

“I’m sorry. I’m not normally like this.” Phil gestured an open hand vaguely around his head. “I - I hit my head,” he finished lamely.

“Yeah, you mentioned. Like three times now.” Most of the stiffness had gone from Dan’s tone. He watched as Phil rested his elbows on the table and brought his hands up to cover his face. This seemed to soften him even further. “Uh, how bad is it? Do you need to call someone?”

“No, no… It’s fine,” Phil muttered into his hands. “Just hurts.” He lowered his hands again and looked back up. “But… you did ask it, right? I mean…” For the second time that day, Phil held out his bare forearm to a stranger, revealing those four troublesome words: Er det dine briller. “These were your first words to me?”

Dan shifted in his seat. “Er… Well, yeah, but…”

Phil felt himself deflate at the response. “But you have a different tattoo,” he finished. Of course he did - how could Phil have been so stupid? “I’m so sorry, I should have known better. God, this day has been awful. I’m so sor-”

“Ja, du er min,” Dan whispered.

“Sorry?”

A little more confidently now, Dan spoke again, “Ja, du er min. That’s what you said back.”

“Wait.” Phil frowned, recalling the incident. “Didn’t I say det er min? As in, they - the sunglasses - are mine?”

“Nope.” Dan grinned and shook his head. “You definitely said du er min. As in, you are mine.”

“Aw damn it,” Phil muttered, “I’m always messing up the pronouns in this language.”

Dan snorted in amusement.

“Can… Can I see your tattoo then?” Phil asked tentatively.

Dan’s eyes darted down to his own lap. “Oh. Uh… Maybe another time.”

Phil looked hurt. “If this is because of what I said before, I really am sorry. I never should have implied you weren’t who I thought you’d be. I was just so shocked and-”

“No, it’s not that,” Dan said quickly. “I just… don’t really feel comfortable showing you right now.”

Phil drew in a long, deep breath before biting his lower lip. This didn’t make any sense - nothing about this meeting had gone even remotely like he had pictured. His throat was tightening and he had to blink a few times to keep his tears in check. Crying in front of the man would really put the icing on the cake, wouldn’t it?

“You… You don’t want to show me your mark?” Phil questioned. He was fighting to keep the pleading tone out of his voice, but it slipped through anyway.

“Er, not right now, no,” Dan confirmed. Though he looked apologetic.

“But you’re sure we’re soulmates?” Phil pressed on. “Like, sure sure?”

“Du er min,” Dan said with a nod.

“Then, I just don’t understand.” He was thoroughly exasperated now. “Why can’t I see it? I mean, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but we just met, so-”

“Exactly! We just met. Which is why I’m not particularly comfortable showing you such a private thing.”

“But then how will I-”

“It’s on my bum, alright?!” Dan exclaimed in frustration.

Phil blinked at him. “Sorry, what?”

“On my arse, in huge fucking block letters, I have a tattoo that says ‘Ja du er min’,” Dan clarified. “I can assure you, you are the first person to ever greet me with those exact words.”

At that point, Phil realized his mouth had been hanging open and quickly shut it. Virtually all soulmate tattoos were on perfectly innocuous parts of the body: arms, wrists, ankles, collarbones, feet. He’d heard once of a German teenager who’d come out claiming his mark was on his penis and that was why he’d been harassing half the girls at his school with dick pics. The story had been on the news and everything. But the mark had turned out to be fake - his real soulmate tattoo was at the base of his neck, covered by his long hair, and simply said ‘Nein’.

With wide eyes, Phil leaned in closer and whispered “…For real?”

His soulmate nodded miserably. He seemed thoroughly embarrassed.

“But… But that’s so cool!” Phil grinned.

Now it was Dan’s turn to blink back. “How is being tramp-stamped from birth in any way cool? Do you know what they call tattoos like that in Denmark?” he demanded.

Phil shook his head.

“Røvgevir. Ass antlers.”

But as Phil dissolved into giggles, Dan gave up trying to act annoyed. “Alright, it’s a little funny,” he admitted. “But realize that anytime I wanted to see my soulmate’s first words to me, I had to take down my pants and read them backwards in a mirror.”

“And it really says those exact words?” Phil giggled on.

“It really does. ‘Yes, you are mine’,” Dan recited back the translated version. He was snickering too now.

“God, you must have thought I’d be a serial killer!”

“Or perhaps a raging drunk,” Dan put in. “Speaking of…” His gaze traveled down to his backpack, then over to to the door. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

After exiting the cafe, the two found a grocery store and stopped in to get some sandwiches and paper cups and plates to take with them. The rain had managed to stay away and, for the first day since Phil had arrived, the sun was actually shining. But even if they had walked directly into a hurricane, the day couldn’t have seemed anything but gorgeous to him.

Together, they crossed a few streets, and several minutes later arrived at the large square garden that surrounded Rosenborg Castle. Around them, there were people walking their dogs, riding bikes, or just relaxing in the rare bit of sunshine. Dan guided him over to a spot on the grass near a statue of Hans Christian Andersen and surprised Phil a bit by pulling a blanket from his backpack and spreading it out on the slightly damp grass.

But if the blanket had been unexpected, it only got stranger as Dan proceeded to pull an unopened bottle of champagne out of the bag. Phil looked at him curiously.

Dan shrugged at the reaction. “I always like to be prepared.” Noting Phil’s look of incredulousness, he laughed and explained, “Nah, I bought it when you went looking for the paper plates. It’s funny not getting asked for ID here - there’s no drinking age in Denmark, you know?”

Phil picked up the bottle and scanned the Danish label. “Looks fancy.”

“My dad told me this brand is the best.” Dan popped the cork off, seeming a little surprised as the fizz rushed out. Phil handed him two of the little paper cups and Dan poured them each one.

“Cheers,” Dan said. “Or I guess we should say skål.”

“Skål,” Phil repeated, tapping his paper cup to Dan’s. He took a sip of the liquid, but immediately had to fight to keep from scrunching up his face at the taste. Not wanting to offend his soulmate any more than he’d already done, he hummed, “Mmmm…”.

Dan, who had also sipped his, now frowned and peered into the cup. “Huh. Tastes like ass.”

“Yeah…” Phil agreed with a giggle. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but…”

“Should’ve known Dad was taking the piss.” Dan scooted over to the edge of the blanket and poured his cupful out into the grass. “So much for that.”

“Still, it was a nice thought,” Phil said. “I should have thought to do something cool for you…”

Dan glanced down and his cheeks reddened again. “Oh no, it’s no big deal,” he mumbled quickly. He looked back up. “And you said you’d been learning Danish, didn’t you? That’s a huge something.”

Phil gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, that was a great use of my time, wasn’t it?” With a sigh, he lay back on the blanket and brought his hands up over his face again. “This day has been so humiliating,” he moaned. “Why does this soulmate business have to be so complicated?”

Dan laughed and joined Phil in stretching out on the blanket. “Tell me about it.”

Phil made it about thirty minutes into their picnic before an acute increase in pain and dizziness upon sitting up caused him to vomit his half-sandwich and ass-champagne over the side of the blanket. Mortified, he tried to stand up and move away, but his world was spinning so much that he would have toppled right over if not for Dan grabbing his arm to steady him.

“Whoa, hey, hold on,” Dan commanded as Phil tried to pull away from his grip. “You need to sit back down.”

“I-I need to g-go,” Phil slurred, not entirely sure where he was trying to get to. Besides away, that is. Preferably some place dark and quiet and far removed from other humans. His head was pounding.

“I know, we’re going, just hold on,” Dan assured, though he sounded nervous. Once he was convinced Phil could stand on his own, Dan ducked away to gather everything back into his bag. Phil let his eyes close as he swayed in place, just focusing on remaining upright.

Things were a blur from that point on, due mainly to the persistent ringing in Phil’s ears. Dan moved him to a park bench and then started asking him all kinds of questions. But Dan’s voice was hard to make out - almost like Phil was underwater - so Phil couldn’t give many answers. The questioning finally stopped when a concerned-looking Dan took out his phone and stepped a few paces away to make a call.

About ten minutes later, Dan was ushering Phil into a taxi. Phil had a vague sense that he really shouldn’t be getting into a cab with a man he’d just met an hour or two before, soulmate or not, but he was feeling too out of it to protest. Next thing Phil knew, he was being led into a reception area of a bright waiting room and nudged toward a chair.

“…This a hospital?” Phil mumbled as he sank into his seat. The change in location had made him feel a bit more coherent.

Dan scratched the top of his head, looking awkward. “Yeah… I think you need to get your head checked.”

“Rude.”

“What?” Dan frowned at first, but then his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh no, not like that! I just meant because of the…” He trailed off as he noticed Phil was smirking at him. “Oh. Got your sense of humor back, I see.”

Phil giggled a bit. Gingerly, he lifted his hand up to feel the lump on the back of his skull and winced. It had definitely gotten bigger.

“I should go sign you in,” Dan decided, glancing to the front desk. “Have you got an ID on you?”

Nodding slowly, Phil reached into his pocket and pulled a card from his wallet. “I hope they speak English here,” he mumbled, passing the card to Dan.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Dan dismissed him with a shrug. “Pretty much everyone here does.” Once again, Phil felt dumb for having spent so many years worrying about the potential language barrier.

Dan examined the card. “So it’s Lester, is it?” he mused. Phil gave a small grunt of confirmation. “Philip Michael Lester… I like it.” Nodding to himself, Dan turned and took the card up to the reception desk.

The waiting room was surprisingly quiet for a hospital, which Phil greatly appreciated. If only it wasn’t so damn bright. He let his eyes close to block the light out. He must have started drifting off because a few moments later he felt someone gently nudging him back awake. Phil opened his eyes to see Dan had returned and was poking his shoulder, holding a clipboard in the other hand.

“You really shouldn’t sleep with a head injury,” Dan said as he sat down in the chair beside Phil. “This happened to my cousin once and I remember my aunt had to keep waking her up.”

Phil gave a tired grunt in response, his gaze falling to the clipboard which Dan had balanced on his lap.

“Normally they’d just have you scan your ID and then all your info is in the system already, but it won’t work because you’re not from Denmark so we’ve got these forms instead,” Dan rambled in explanation. Phil really couldn’t have cared less how the Danish healthcare system worked at the moment, but he nodded anyway. Leaning forward in his seat, Phil rested his elbows on his knees, allowing him to support his forehead in his hands.

“Do you live with your parents?” Dan’s voice asked.

“Just right now,” Phil mumbled back into his hands. “I’m planning on moving out soon… just don’t have things quite…” he trailed off feeling slightly embarrassed.

Embarrassment was really the emotion of the day for Phil. In the past twelve hours, he had accused a random Danish lady of being his soulmate, then gotten knocked down by a pack of dogs and helped to his feet by a man who turned out to be his actual soulmate, spluttered at him in a foreign language only to discover he spoke English all along, offended the man, and finally made up with him only long enough to puke all over his picnic.

“It’s okay, I live with my family too, whenever I’m home from uni,” Dan said, cutting his thoughts off. “Do you know your mum’s phone number?”

“Er… seven, one…” He closed his eyes tighter and rubbed at them. “Or…Or maybe it ends in seven one?” Normally he knew the number, but his head felt fuzzy and he was tired - so tired.

“That’s alright. What’s her name?”

“Mum…” Phil answered sleepily. His eyes were closed, so he missed Dan’s eyeroll. The tiredness won out and Phil drifted back off again until Dan’s voice startled him back to reality. “Wha..?” Phil mumbled.

“I asked if you’re on any medications,” Dan repeated his question.

Phil frowned. Soulmates or not, surely that wasn’t appropriate to ask someone you’d just met. “No? Are you?”

“Huh?” Dan replied. “Why?”

“Well why did you ask me?” Phil tried to demand. But it came out more like a whine.

Dan giggled a little, tilting the clipboard Phil’s direction as he did so. “Because it’s line twelve on this form.”

“Oh.”

After having filled out as much as he could, Dan returned the forms to the desk and Phil’s name was soon called by a nurse. Dan helped him to his feet and followed him to the doorway, but the nurse stopped him there.

“Sorry, only family is allowed in the exam room,” she said gently.

“Oh okay, I’ll wait here,” Dan said, turning.

“No!” Phil protested, more forcefully than he’d intended. Both Dan and the nurse froze. “I just mean, can’t he stay?” Phil pleaded. “We’re… we’re soulmates.”

Dan looked uncomfortable. “It’s okay,” he assured, glancing down to his feet. “I can just wait.”

“Please?” Phil begged. He wasn’t scared of hospitals exactly, but they always made him nervous, especially now when he wasn’t thinking totally clearly. Plus, having finally met Dan, he had no desire to let the man out of his sight so soon.

The nurse cast him a sympathetic smile before giving a quick nod and leading both of them back to the room.

The exam was fairly straight forward. First Phil had recounted the story of how he’d injured himself after being tripped by a cycling dog-walker (which the doctor declared with a chuckle to be the most Danish accident he’d ever heard). Then he’d been given both a physical and neurological exam, the latter requiring Phil to repeat certain words and solve a few very simple puzzles. In the end, he was diagnosed with a mild to moderate concussion.

“For the next 24 to 48 hours, it’s important that someone monitors you,” the doctor went on to explain to his increasingly drowsy patient. “Since it doesn’t seem to be too serious, it’s not necessary that you stay here overnight, so long as you have a family member or friend who can check you regularly to ensure your condition doesn’t worsen.” He glanced over to Dan. “The two of you are traveling together?”

“Er, well, not exactly…” Dan began sheepishly. “We sorta met today.”

“…But we’re soulmates,” Phil added groggily. Dan’s cheeks reddened.

The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Congratulations are in order then. This is a big day for the two of you - a shame it had to end in meeting me,” he chuckled. Turning back to Phil, he asked, “Do you have someone who can stay with you to monitor your condition? Otherwise I’ll have to admit you.”

“Uhh…” Though Phil’s head was feeling better than it had two hours ago, he still felt like he was in a fog. He recognized all the words being spoken to him but it was as if they were devoid of any meaning. “I… what?” he asked. He glanced over to Dan and gave him a confused look.

“He’s asking if you have friends in Copenhagen that you’re staying with,” Dan clarified. “Or if you need to sleep here.”

Phil latched onto the second part of that question and frowned. “No, I don’t wanna sleep here.”

“I understand,” the doctor said kindly, “but someone needs to look after you for the next day or two.”

Whether it was from the concussion affecting his emotions or the realization that he might have to spend the night alone in a foreign hospital, Phil suddenly felt like crying. He bit his lower lip to keep it from quivering.

“I can stay with him,” Dan piped up, then turned to address Phil. “I mean, if you’re okay with that of course.”

Quickly brushing the tear that was threatening to roll down his cheek away with his hand, Phil cast him a grateful smile.

Satisfied that his patient would be monitored, the doctor went on to explain to Dan exactly how to do the neurological checks and what to do if Phil’s condition changed. Phil used this opportunity to let his heavy eyelids drop, not exactly sleeping but not really listening either.

After a few more minutes, he heard the door click shut as the doctor left and was nudged back to alertness.

“Alright, time to go,” Dan said gently. He helped Phil to his feet and guided him through the door. “I’ll need to call my dad when we get outside to let him know I’ll be staying with a friend tonight.”

Phil looked confused as they entered the hallway. “I thought… I thought you were staying with me?”

Dan rolled his eyes and gave a half-laugh. “It’s you, Phil. You’re the friend.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Phil smiled sleepily. Dan was good company, he decided.

“Phil? Phil, time to wake up.” Someone was gently shaking Phil’s shoulder.

“No…” Phil groaned back without opening his eyes. He tried to tug the duvet up higher around his neck, but the someone was sitting on it. “Tired.”

“This will only take a few minutes,” the voice continued on. Under his breath, he added, “Just like the last five times…”

Eventually, Phil managed to pry his eyes open. He was in a small room lying on a double bed, engulfed in a very white duvet. Next to him sat a man who looked exceedingly familiar, but whom Phil couldn’t quite place. His confusion turned to panic and he sat up quickly. At the sudden movement, his head rushed and then started pounding.

“Whoa careful there…” the man warned. He reached out a hand toward Phil’s shoulder, but Phil scooted himself back against the headboard.

“Who are you?” Phil demanded.

“That was actually my first question for you,” replied the other with a smirk. He held up a small notepad and waved it in Phil’s direction. That also was definitely familiar. “Go on then, who am I? You know this one - at least you did an hour ago.”

Phil’s face screwed up in concentration. It was on the tip of his tongue. “Er….”

“I’ll give you a hint. Starts with D.”

“D?” Phil’s face screwed up in thought. “D… Don? Dave? Dan!” It was all flooding back now. “You’re Dan. I met you today. We had a picnic and you made me drink champagne that tasted like ass.”

“Ooh you’re getting better at this,” Dan remarked. He jotted something down on the notepad. “Took you three more hints last time. And you are?”

“I’m Phil.”

“Good.” Dan made another note. “Know where we are?”

Phil looked around. There was a desk in the corner of the room containing a phone, a mini electric kettle, tiny coffee cups barely large enough to hold two gulps of liquid each, and a stack of what looked to be tourist information brochures in mainly red and white colors. “A hotel,” he deduced. “In Copenhagen. Because I’m on holiday.”

“Excellent,” Dan confirmed. “And that goose egg you’re currently sporting on your skull which necessitates this hourly game of twenty questions is because…?”

Phil screwed up his face in thought. “I think… I fell?”

Dan snorted. “Technically, yes, you fell. Multiple choice bonus question: a group of what species animal tripped you? A, pigeons, B, dogs, or C, squirrels?”

Phil grinned. “Did you know that a group of squirrels is called a scurry?”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times now.” Dan smiled and shook his head slowly as he made another note on the pad. “Funny how that detail sticks when I can’t for the life of me get you to remember the current prime minister…”

“…And a group of ferrets is called a business,” Phil added helpfully.

“Yes, yes, moving on…” Dan answered without looking up from his paper. “What’s the square root of sixteen?”

“Uh… eight?”

“Amazing,” Dan remarked, making a note on the sheet. “No matter what your level of coherency is, you consistently believe that to be eight.”

Phil frowned. “It’s not?”

Dan gave an exasperated sigh, indicating they’d gone over this a few times already. “It’s four, Phil. Four squared is sixteen. Ergo, the square root of sixteen is four.”

Phil gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah… I haven’t had maths for a few years…”

“I’m starting to gather that much,” Dan muttered. He ran his pen down the list one last time. “Alright, you passed. You’re cleared to sleep.”

Phil’s smile faded. “Oh.” He was feeling a lot more alert than he had in awhile and wasn’t quite ready to return to unconsciousness. He glanced around for a clock. “What time is it?”

“Around midnight,” Dan answered. He stood from the bed and transferred over to the desk chair, settling right down into it. “We got back to the hotel at half six and you’ve been out since then. Except for our little interrogations every hour.”

“What have you been doing in between?”

Dan gestured to the small TV on the wall. The sound was muted, so Phil hadn’t even noticed it was on until now. The camera was panning out to show a group of islanders participating in some kind of physical challenge involving paddling a raft full of coconuts.

“What show is that?” Phil asked.

“The Danish version of Survivor, I think. That or it’s a really weird porno - with this country you can never quite tell. I’ve seen four dicks so far. They don’t even blur them out.”

Phil giggled at this. “I saw a bunch of Danish films to help me practice before I came here. I understand.”

Dan raised his eyebrows. “You really went all in, didn’t you?”

“I guess I was just nervous,” Phil said with a shrug. “I wanted to be sure I could relate to you, you know?”

“But isn’t the whole point of a soulmate that you don’t have to worry about that? That you have a promise from the day you’re born that someone out there is going to be perfect for you?” There was something odd about the way Dan said it - an almost bitter undertone.

“Well, yeah, in theory,” Phil defended. “But can you honestly say you never worried about getting along with your soulmate?”

“Didn’t really have to,” Dan mumbled under his breath.

Phil was about to ask what he meant by that when his soulmate brought his hand up to his mouth to cover a massive yawn. “Haven’t you slept at all?” Phil asked.

Dan shook his head. “Not yet. I was going to see if maybe they have a rollaway mattress I can borrow.”

“Oh.” Phil felt a little twinge of guilt. He glanced to his side. “You can take the bed if you want. I’ve slept a lot already…” But even as he suggested this, he felt his own eyelids drooping. Stupid head injuries.

Dan gave a half-laugh and waved Phil off with his hand. “There is no way I’m kicking the guy who’s so concussed that he was unsure of his own name a few hours ago out of the only bed in the room. I’m fine here.”

“Or…” Phil glanced over to the space next to him. “We could just share?”

Dan looked skeptical. “Oh. I don’t know…”

“I mean, unless that’s weird for you,” Phil backpedaled. “I just thought, you know…”

“No, it’s not that,” Dan said quickly. “Just, I don’t want it to seem like, I don’t know, like… I’m taking advantage?” His intonation went up at the end of his sentence, making the words sound more like a question than a statement. “You know, moving too fast?”

Phil thought this was a bit of an odd thing to worry about, given that the universe had already quite literally granted them its stamp of approval. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon for newly discovered soulmates to actually sleep together on the eve of their first meeting (though each generation denied to their parents that this was the case). But he just shrugged. “You’ve already seen me fall on my head, throw up my lunch, and forget my own name. I don’t know how much more intimate we can get.”

“You’ve got a point there,” Dan admitted. He flicked off the TV and stood to his feet. “Alright, budge up.”

Dan and Phil got up late the next morning, exhausted from the hourly coherency checks. Or, at least they started out hourly. By three am, Phil had declared himself (in a rather whiny voice) to be “completely healed” and Dan hadn’t been awake enough to argue, so they’d finally silenced the alarms for good and eventually woken to sunlight streaming in through the curtained window. Thankfully, the extra rest seemed to have done Phil a lot of good - his head felt much clearer.

“What exactly is this?” Phil questioned, indicating the very dark, dense bread his soulmate was currently spreading - no, spackling - with butter. The two were seated in the small dining area of the hotel, eating their complimentary breakfast.

“It’s called rugbrød,” Dan explained. He added a piece of cheese on top before passing it over to Phil. “It’s like pumpernickel on steroids.”

Phil took a small bite and chewed it slowly. He’d never been much of a fan of cheese, and this grainy brick-like bread wasn’t helping.

Dan smirked at him, before taking a bite out of his own piece. “Kinda gotta get used to the texture,” he explained with his mouth full, “but between this stuff and potatoes, that’s like 90% of the Danish diet right there.”

“I’m starting to think I might not be cut out for the Danish lifestyle,” Phil said. He wrinkled his nose up and carefully set the bread back on his plate. “First the bicycling dog walkers… now this.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Dan reassured. “Even my dad can’t stand rugbrød and he’s lived here seven years.” He passed Phil one of the plain white bread rolls they’d grabbed as back up.

Phil took the roll gratefully. “It’s funny, really.” He started spreading it with butter. “All my life, I just assumed that I’d end up living in Denmark. It’s weird suddenly feeling like… I dunno, like, I have a choice, I guess.”

Dan nodded thoughtfully. “Like you’re in control for once.”

“Exactly.” He added a piece of ham to his roll and took a bite. “It’s a weird feeling.” Privately, Phil wasn’t sure whether or not he liked this feeling. There was something comforting in the idea that the universe - God or whatever was up there - was looking out for him. That he was part of some greater plan.

They ate in silence for a few moments before Dan said quietly, “You know… sometimes I wonder if this whole soulmate mark business isn’t more trouble than it’s worth.”

“What do you mean?” Phil asked, looking puzzled. “If we didn’t have our marks, how could we ever be sure we’re with the right person?”

“But even with them we can’t be sure sometimes,” Dan countered. “Like my parents for instance. Both of them have ‘Hello’.”

Phil winced in sympathy. Greeting word marks were among the most common soulmate tattoos for sure - he’d had three classmates with ‘Hi’ in primary school alone.

“Nearly everyone they met was a potential candidate,” Dan went on. “They’d known each other four years before they finally decided they might be soulmates and went ahead and got married. Never really could be completely sure.” He paused and then added in a subdued tone, “I kind of think it was the uncertainty that made them split up in the end.”

Phil didn’t really know what to say to that, so he settled for making a small humming noise in his throat. Dan was looking as though he regretted adding that last part. It was understandable; due to most folk’s fervent belief in destiny, divorce was rare. The soulmate bond was something that was meant to be unbreakable.

Quietly, Dan began gathering their used plates and cups together. “It goes the other way too,” he went on after a moment. “One of my uncles… well, he and his wife were definitely soulmates. I can’t remember quite what their tattoos were but it was something completely random, to the point where there was no question they were meant to be. But after a few months, she started being really awful to him - verbally, mostly, but then sometimes she’d hit him too. And my uncle wouldn’t leave her. He said they were meant to be together and nothing should ever separate what fate had joined.” Dan paused and shook his head slowly.

Phil was floored. “But how could that happen? If they were really supposed to be soulmates, how could she treat him that way?”

There was distinct bitterness in Dan’s reply. “Yeah, well the Howell family has never had much luck with the soulmate business.”

Together, they rose from the table and started walking their dishes over to the cart in the corner. “I’m sorry,” Phil said softly. “About your family.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dan said with a shrug. “It’s not really anyone’s fault.” He inhaled deeply before adding on the exhale, so low that Phil just barely made it out, “And that’s the worst part.”

Phil’s flight back to England would be at seven that evening, so after their meal, the two made their way back to the hotel room to prepare to check out. Though they’d been chatting easily earlier in the day, Dan had stayed fairly quiet since their conversation at breakfast. He sat on the floor next to Phil, seemingly lost in thought as the other stuffed his final dirty socks into his mess of a suitcase.

“What are you thinking about?” Phil asked finally, in what he hoped was a casual voice.

“Nothing really,” Dan replied, without looking up. “Just… well it’s weird, isn’t it? To think we just met yesterday and now you’ll be leaving again.”

“Yeah, but we’ll see each other again,” Phil promised. “Once you’re back home, it’s only about a four hour train ride from my house in England to yours. And there’s always Skype.”

“I guess.” Dan sighed lightly. He noticed the corner of a t-shirt sticking out from under the bed, pulled it out, and tossed the shirt over to Phil.

Phil caught it with a grin. “Thanks.”

Dan hummed in acknowledgement, then let his gaze move back straight ahead of him. Phil started zipping the now overstuffed suitcase closed.

“I swear this all fit when I left home,” Phil grunted as he struggled.

“That’s how it always is, isn’t it?” Dan mused. He seemed to be mustering up the courage to say something. “Er… Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh…” Dan began again. “Before you leave…”

Phil paused and looked over. Dan was tugging at his shirt sleeves absently now. “I meant to say it before,” Dan went on. “But I just didn’t know the right time and then you were hurt and all wonky so I didn’t want to do it then…”

“What is it?” Phil asked. His heart was beating faster now.

“I just…” He took a deep breath, which seemed to strengthen his resolve. “It’s about my tattoo,” he blurted. “It’s…” Another breath. “It’s not like it’s…” He started again, then paused. Two breaths this time. “I didn’t exactly… “ He trailed off.

But he couldn’t seem to get the words out.

Finally, Phil spoke instead, his voice low. “It’s alright. I know.”

Dan looked surprised. “What?”

“I know, Dan,” Phil repeated softly. Abandoning the suitcase and crawling across the floor to Dan’s side, he let out a half-laugh of irony. “God knows I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise, but I’ve known.” Now it was his turn for a breath. “We’re not really soulmates.”

In a flat voice Dan asked, “When’d you figure it out?”

“I’ve had doubts the whole time,” Phil said. “You won’t show me the mark, you look uncomfortable every time I say the word…” He smiled sadly. “I just couldn’t figure out why you’d lie about something like this.”

“But I didn’t lie…” Dan started.

Phil rolled his eyes. “Dan, c’mon. In that cafe, I flat out asked you if we were soulmates.”

“No,” Dan said quickly, “You asked I had a different tattoo. Which I don’t.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not. Look, I’m sorry - I wasn’t honest. I don’t have your mark.” At Phil’s frown, Dan’s words started tumbling out even faster, as though he was scared if he didn’t let them all out at once, Phil would cut in. “But I didn’t lie - not exactly! I was watching you, because… well, because I thought you were cute and I knew I could never have anyone like you for real, and I know that makes me sound like a stalker but I swear I’m not!”

He paused for a breath before diving right in again. “Then you tripped. So I came over because I just wanted to see if you were alright, and your sunglasses were just laying there so I picked them up, but your sleeve was rolled up and your tattoo was right there. And I read it and it just fit so perfectly - like it was meant for that exact moment! And so I asked it - er det dine briller? And your eyes just lit up, and for once in my life I felt like destiny was on my side.”

“But you don’t have my mark,” Phil countered. “We don’t match. You’re meant for someone else.”

“I’m not! I’ll prove it!” Before Phil had time to register what was happening, Dan had stood up and whipped off his own t-shirt. Next came the socks. But as Dan started unbuckling his belt, Phil regained his wits.

“Whoa! What are you doing?” Phil exclaimed, throwing Dan’s shirt back at him. “Put your clothes back on!”

Dan made no attempt to catch the shirt and it fell to the floor next to him. “But don’t you see?” he asked desperately, fingers still fumbling with the buckle. “I’m nobody’s! I have no mark! Nothing! No one!”

Tears were starting to run from Dan’s red eyes down his cheeks now. His words came out thick with emotion. “The universe - God, or whoever is up there - looked at me and decided there was no one compatible with my soul. My parents thought I’d die young - maybe that would have been better than growing up knowing from the start that no one would ever love me like that!”

Phil sat frozen in shock. When a baby was born unmarked, it was always a sobering occurrence. Usually, it meant that the child would die before ever speaking their first words. One of his cousins had been unmarked and died a mere six hours after birth. But to live to be Dan’s age without a tattoo at all was unheard of.

Phil’s attention was drawn to a long, jagged scar on Dan’s otherwise unmarked torso. It started just below his ribs and stretched several inches to the top of his belly button. Dan seemed to sense Phil’s gaze. “A doctor told my parents once he had a theory it might be on the inside,” Dan said in a whisper, running his fingers over the scar. “I was seven years old when I decided I had to find it.”

Phil felt faint. “You… You did that to yourself?”

Dan nodded. “Used the pocket knife Dad got me for my birthday that year. Mum had a fit when she walked into the bathroom and found me in the middle of my little surgery.” In a lower voice, he added, “It was one of the last fights they had before they split.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Phil stammered.

Dan laughed humorlessly. “No one ever does.” His tears had stopped just as abruptly as they’d started and he wiped them away roughly with the back of his hand.

It was a long moment before Phil spoke again, and the words came out cold. “You still lied to me.”

“And I’m not trying to get your sympathy - I swear,” Dan assured. “Just… trying to give you a reason.”

Phil let out a long exhale. Finally, he stood and moved back to the suitcase to finish zipping it. “I think I’m going to go now. I’ll get a cab to the airport. It was nice meeting you, Dan. I just… I need to think.”

“I know,” Dan whispered. “I’m really sorry.”

“Me too.”

With that, Phil turned and starting walking to the door, wheeling his luggage behind him. But upon reaching the doorway, he stopped and spun around again.

“One question,” Phil demanded. “Your mark - why’d you say it was on your bum?”

Dan looked sheepish. “I panicked,” he answered simply.

Phil waited a second for an explanation, but none came.

“Alright then,” Phil said finally, the faintest hint of a smirk visible on his features. “I’ll see you around, Dan.”

And then, Phil really did leave.

It was a chilly morning in November. Dan paced the platform of the train station anxiously. The butterflies in his stomach had given up fluttering the moment the train had arrived and taken to dive-bombing his insides instead. His eyes scanned the crowd, taking in each arriving passenger as they stepped off.

It had taken Phil five days after he’d flown back to England before he’d even replied to a message, and another three after that before he’d agreed to a phone call. He’d said he needed time to think over everything, and Dan had thought that more than fair.

Now, four months and countless Skype calls later, the two were finally meeting up again. Dan spotted his friend in the crowd.

“Phil!” he cried. Dan waved an arm in the other man’s direction. Phil turned his head at the sound and broke into a grin. He pulled his backpack on and rushed over before throwing his arms around Dan and pulling him in tightly for a hug.

“Whoa,” Dan giggled, caught off guard. “What happened to ‘We’ll take it slow this time’?”

Phil shrugged. “Slow is a relative term. We’ve already slept together.”

“Platonically!” Dan argued, releasing himself. “And that was when you were convinced that fate had already given us its stamp of approval.”

“I mean, didn’t it though?” Phil asked seriously. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot the last four months. Your first words to me are tattooed on my skin. Isn’t that how this whole game works?”

“Yes but I cheated,” Dan pointed out. “I read your arm.”

Phil shrugged. “Who’s to say you weren’t destined to cheat?”

At this, Dan rolled his eyes. “Sure Phil, that’s totally how this works.”

Epilogue:

*Seven years later*

“Dan? You almost done in there? I need to shower!” Phil’s voice called from outside the bathroom door.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Dan called back to his boyfriend. Reluctantly, he began pulling up his trousers, covering the still healing script of the freshly aquired tattoo that he’d been admiring in the full length mirror. He giggled at the recollection of himself and Phil, stumbling drunk into the parlor last week, declaring they’d had the most brilliant idea ever.

His ass now agreed. “Ja, Phil,” he giggled, “du er min.”

To read my other fics, click here!

#phanfiction #phanfic #phandom big bang #pbb2017 #phan fluff

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thertrockshow · 5 years

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Iron Maiden's successful partnership with Robinsons Brewery continues with the launch of two new beers -- the seventh and eighth in their Trooper line -- an English stout called Fear of the Dark and a Trooper India Pale Ale. "These two new brews represent the next steps in the evolution of the Trooper beer collection," Robinsons’ Head Brewer Martyn Weeks said in a press release. "We can’t wait for fans old and new to try them!” Weeks added that Trooper IPA, with a 4.8 percent ABV, "marries together familiar American hoppy flavors with a fundamentally British backbone." Iron Maiden frontman Bruce Dickinson was inspired to add an IPA after trying numerous brands when he delivered the keynote speech at the Craft Brewers Conference in Denver last year. “I’ve sampled so many different styles of beer around the world on my travels with Maiden and it’s hard to ignore how big IPA has become, and what an exciting style it can be," singer Bruce Dickinson said in a press release. I’m a huge fan of both IPA and stout and they were the gaping holes in the Trooper range. I’ve lost count of the number of people who have asked us to do a Fear of the Dark stout over the last few years!” Named after their 1992 album, the 4.5 percent ABV Fear of the Dark continues their experimentations with darker varieties. “Fear of the Dark is something fans have been begging for since Trooper was first released and we’re proud to finally be rewarding their loyalty," brand manager Sam Kennerley said. "Trooper Red ‘N’ Black porter was one of our most popular releases so we knew there was a demand for new darker beers and we are glad to be finally releasing a sessionable stout for all our fans to enjoy.” Fans can pre-order the beer at Robinsons' online shop, with the beers expected to arrive on March 23. A launch at Amazon.uk coming in the near future. Robinsons has sold more than 25 million pints of Trooper since it debuted in 2013. Read More: Iron Maiden to Release Two New 'Trooper' Beers | https://ultimateclassicrock.com/iron-maiden-stout-ipa/?utm_source=tsmclip&utm_medium=referral https://www.instagram.com/p/B9qk8ZbBF5k/?igshid=1gp1iaiutqf

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mychemicalphantrash-blog1 · 7 years

Text

Knock On Wood

Genre: Fluff

Words: 2,167

Summary: Dan and Phil Skype and meet for the first time at Manchester. They can’t help falling in love with each other.

Song To Listen To While Reading: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen

The black loading screen has been taking forever to load. “I can't believe i’m calling him” I thought to myself. Ever since we started texting we never stopped. We were one of each other's only friends and we bonded over our similarities so fast. We've been texting for a couple weeks and now we're finally Skyping. My inspiration, role model, and favorite Youtuber is finally Skyping me, talking to me. Finally Phil Lester lights up my Skype call screen. I took my first glance and I was speechless. His black fringe falling perfectly falling next to his blue/green/yellow eyes you could go swimming in. And his pale skin complements his raven black hair. His smirk and small hair flip made my stomach flip. He's wearing a grey and red Pokémon sweatshirt along with blue and yellow emoji pants. They tell his personality perfectly. “Hey Dan!” He said enthusiastically, breaking me from my trance. “P-Phil! Hey!” I say stuttering. “How's life in Manchester?” I continue. “It's great! What about you in Wokingham?” He asked curiously. We talked for hours everyday. We talked about our favorite music, bands, Pokémon, subjects, and more. Then soon we both felt so comfortable around each other we both came out as Bisexual. And so on, with every Skype call I fell more in love with AmazingPhil. I felt like I've known Phil for my whole life, but it really was only 3 months. Then one night Phil asked me a question that would change our lives. “Do you want to come up to Manchester? You can stay with me and meet me and my parents!” Phil asked while soft pink sprung to his cheeks as well as my own. “Of course Phil, I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

________________________________________________________________

~ One Week Later ~

(Texting)

Dan: I finally convinced my parents Phil! I can stay for 3 days!

Phil: That's amazing Dan! When do you leave?

Dan: In 3 hours. I should be at The Manchester Underground Station at 6:00pm.

Phil: Can't wait to see you Dan!

Dan: Me too Phil. I need to finish packing, bye. <3

Phil: Ok, bye. <3

“What do I say? What if I mess up and he hates me? What if he changes his mind?” I was lost in my mind of Phil and I, when then realizing I'm already on the the Underground on my way to Manchester.

________________________________________________________________

“Phil could never love someone like you.” My mind raced the whole ride to Manchester. “Phil's too good for you, you don't deserve someone like Phil.” I couldn't stop. “Phil Lester, Phil Lester, Phil Lester" I couldn't stop thinking about Phil. The Underground soon stopped and I heard the speaker say “Manchester Underground Station" And my heart flipped. I texted Phil “I'm here!” and started to get up out of my seat. I walked out of the doors onto the platform. I scanned for Phil. But I couldn't see him anywhere. “Dan you're so stupid to think that Phil would actually come and that he cared about you" I kept thinking. I looked up once more before I get back on the Underground. I see Phil running and then stopping to look around. His Black hair falling perfectly on his face, his tall and slim body slightly bent over from tiredness. His beautiful eyes finally met mine. I dropped my bags and I ran to him. He ran to me and we collided with a hug that seemed to last forever. His soft black hair in my hand, his musky yet soft flowery and attractive scent filled my nose, his arms wrapped around me like he's protecting me. “I wish this could last forever” I say to myself. Phil finally pulls away with the biggest smile on his face. “You're real!” He said laughing, I join in as we walked to grab my bags I left on the floor. We talked about anything we can think of as we walked to Phil's house. We both can't believe we're here, with each other. We finally make it to Phil's house and he opens the door to reveal his Mom, Dad, and older Brother. “Welcome Dan!” His Mom tells me. “We're Phil's parents and that's his older brother Martyn!” She continued. “N-nice to meet you, T-thank you for letting me stay here.” I replied, stumbling. “You're making a fool out of yourself Dan, They would never like someone like you.” I broke out of my trance when she was in the middle of telling me to put my bags in Phil's room. I didn't hear anything else she said. Bright pink sprung of my face as soon as I realized Phil's hand was on my back, leading me.

________________________________________________________________

“Come on Dan, I want to show you all my favorite places in Manchester.” Phil pleaded. “Ok Phil, lead the way" I said with a huge smile and a soft pink glow on my cheeks. Phil and I walked and stopped for hours, our hands ‘accidentally’ brushing past each others. Phil told me facts about Manchester and took me to the best places, like the Manchester Museum and the Manchester Town Hall. These buildings were so beautiful and old. Phil also took me to Fletcher Moss Botanical Garden. We walked on the dirt path next to the river. Grass, plants, trees and animals everywhere. Birds chirping, the dirt beneath my shoes, the wind against my face, and of course Phil Lester made this my favorite place. Phil and I talked about our childhoods. “I was such a weird kid!” Phil exclaimed. “You really did all of those things? Wow, you're so weird.” I said sarcastically. Be both laughed for hours. We were sat, very close, on a wooden bench looking out to a river and fields. It was chilly that night and I was just wearing a T-Shirt so I started shivering. Phil saw right away and without thinking took his jacket off and put it around me. Both of our faced immediately turned pink. “The jacket even smells like him. But he's just doing this because he's a good friend, he could never love me..” My mind wandered until Phil said something. “Hey, you know ever since I started even texting you, I've so much so much happier. That's why my Mom likes you so much, you make me happy Dan.” Phil said quietly. “Me too Philly, I've had depression for a while now and when I talk to you it all goes away.” I say back, my face slowly turns red. “Idiot, why would you say that. You sound like you're asking to be rejected.” I can't stop thinking about it. “Dan are you okay?” Phil asked worried. “I'm fine, my head is just getting the best of me.” I say as I shut my eyes to hide the tears. “Dan..” Phil says taking my hand “If you ever need anyone to talk to or anything you need, I'm here for you Danny" Phil continues. I turn to him with a smile. He puts his arm around me and I move closer and rest my head on his shoulder. “What are you doing Dan, you're just setting yourself up for rejection.” My head kept going on and on until I finally let my eyes win and let them flutter shut, with Phil Lester by my side.

________________________________________________________________

I awake in Phil's bed. I'm changed into my night clothes already. But Phil's not next to me. “Of course he's not Dan, why would he sleep in the same bed as you?” I get up from the warm bed, open the door and walk down the stairs to find Phil in the kitchen. “No! Dan why did you come down here! I wanted to surprise you with Breakfast in bed!” He said laughing. “Did you sleep in the bed with me?” I asked without thinking. “Um yeah, sorry if you didn't want me to, I can sleep on the floor.” He said, not smiling anymore. “No! I m- mean, I d-doesn't matter. I was just wondering… Umm Phil?” I stuttered. “Yeah Danny?” He said focussing on the pancakes. “Did you change my clothes, and how did I get to your bed?” Phil's face went bright red. “I did, your clothes looked uncomfortable to sleep in. But I didn't see anything Dan I promise, I just changed your shirt and pants” He said, face still red. “And I carried you to the nearest bus stop to go home. Then up to my room. I'm sorry if you were uncomfortable with anything Dan, I'm so sorry.” Phil looked like he was about to cry. “Phil no it was perfect, you were fine. Last night was the best night of my life, trust me, you didn't do anything wrong.” Phil's smile came back as he put the pancakes on 2 plates and grabbed some utensils. “Want to eat in bed?” he said with pink spreading to his cheeks. “Of course, why wouldn't I?” And we headed back upstairs, happy as can be.

________________________________________________________________

After breakfast we came downstairs. His Mom wanted all of us sit in the living room and talk. They asked me all sorts of questions. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, “What's your family like?”, “How did you and Phil meet?”. I answered all of their questions. “What music or bands do you like?” Martyn asked. “I like the band MCR and Muse, Phil likes them too.” And Phil nods his head. “Well this was amazing Dan! I'm glad we got to know you a bit more!” Phil's Mom said. “Anytime Mrs. Lester.” I replied and Phil and I got up and walked outside to their front porch. We sat down on the white wooden bench looking out to the road. “I can't believe I have to leave tomorrow Phil.” I said sadly. “I have only have the rest of the day.” I continued. “Dan, let's go to the Fair for the day. Make today memorable.” Phil said with a big grin. I nodded and we got up and we started to walk to the bus stop. The gravel beneath our feet, crunching as we go. My hands together, moving my fingers around each other. “Phil will never love you, Phil will never love you, Phil will never love you..” My mind wandered the whole walk, trying to fight the tears away. We finally sat at the Bus Station and Phil's hand makes his way to my thigh. “Dan, are you okay?” He asked with the biggest eyes. I flush red. Really red. “I-I'm ok Phil, thank you.” I stumbled. “You sure? You didn't' look okay during the walk and i'm worried.” Phil said leaning closer. I take a deep breath, “Yes Phil, I promise.” Then the bus pulled up with a jolted stop and the doors creaked open.

________________________________________

We stepped off the bus and doors slammed shut. We pay to get in and sit down at a wooden bench. “What ride do you want to go to first?” Phil asked. “Whatever you want babe" I answered. Phil smiled, took my hand, and led me to the first ride. A rollercoaster. We very close to each other in the front cart, and the worker pulled the bar over us. The carts began to go forward and going right into the first drop. The wind against my face and the butterflies in my stomach felt amazing. Yells and shouts from Phil and the other riders filled my ears. My sweaty hands grip the handle tighter as we go around another loop. Soon the ride comes to a stop. “Your hair!” I yell at Phil and his face turns red and laughs. We went on several more rides and ate dinner. Soon the sky turns darker and it becomes chilly. We decided to go on the Ferris Wheel for our final ride. We got in the wooden wobbly cart, Phil sitting very close to me, and it starts moving. “Beautiful view.” I said looking at the darkening sunset. Phil shifts and puts his hand around me. “Do you know what's even more beautiful?” Phil asks staring at me “No, what?” I say curiously. “You" Phil replies, both of us turning red. Phil then takes my hand and leans closer. “You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen Dan" I slowly place my lips on his. His soft lips made my stomach flip and my heart ache. The taste of Phil Lester fills my mouth. Phil kissed back moving his lips. I place my hand on his jaw and move my hand in his. My stomach flips for Phil. I can feel his soft hair against my face. We finally break away to breath. “I love you Philly" I say giggling. “I love you too Danny" He says placing one more peck on my lips before leaning back into the cart, still arm around me and hand in hand. “Knock on wood”

________________________________________________________________

// Thank you so much for reading my first Phanfic! Thanks to @grammatically-correct-phan and special thanks to @spicydanhowell for giving me those sweet editing tips <3 \\

#phanfiction #phan #fanfiction #danandphil #danielhowell #danhowell #danisnotonfire #phillester #amazingphil #myfirstfic

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gleitzman · 8 years

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B-boys on E

It's widely known that marijuana and hip hop are inextricably linked - just turn on the radio or take your pick of MCs becoming poster-boys of weed culture. However, there's a more obscure branch of rap references dating back to the early 90's that have another target in focus: ecstasy. In December of 2000, Simon Reynolds penned an article for the webzine of London-based record label Hyperdub, which now boasts artists such as DJ Rashad, Burial, and Martyn, about the rising trend of MDMA-related references in rap lyrics.

A comprehensive look into B-boys on E, I've republished the piece below alongside a playlist of every track mentioned in the article, including a few sub-2000's tracks that came to mind. Put down the blunt and pick up the pacifier.

Hip Hop and Ecstasy - Simon Reynolds

Magazine editors have a secret formula: "two things, that's just a coincidence--but three, that's a trend". Well, here's three pieces of evidence. On "Let's Get High" from his don't-call-this-a-comeback album The Chronic 2001, Dr. Dre declares " I just took some Ecstasy/Ain't no tellin what the side effects could be". In The Wire's Christmas issue, El-P of underground hip hop outfit Company Flow listed among his 1999 highlights trying Ecstasy "for the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth time". And gangsta rappers Bone Thugs-N-Harmony's latest album BTNH Resurrection contains the song "Ecstasy," inspired by the group's recent introduction to MDMA. The chorus features some of Bone Thugs private slang for the E sensation: "I feel so 'Z'/I feel so ziggety ziggety ziggety/Cause I'm floatin' in ecstasy.." Bizzy's so impressed with the "new shit" touted by their weed dealer that he even wishes Eazy E, Bone Thugs's deceased mentor, "was here to feel pillish, pillish, pillish, pillish."

Add to this reports of thugs and bitches buzzing on E at the Tunnel (New York's most hardcore and "street" rap club), MDMA references in tracks by Jay-Z, Eminem, DJ Quik, Nas, Three-6 Mafia, and Saafir, and persistent rumors about a certain rap mogul who's got a serious Ecstasy habit, and you've got more than a trend--you've got a phenomenon: Hip Hop America Gets Loved Up. It's happened as a knock-on effect of the astonishing surge in Ecstasy use in America over the last two years, itself triggered by a return to reliable, high-dose MDMA pills thanks to Mitshubishi and the brands that followed in its wake. The New York Times reported a 450 percent increase between 1998 and 1999 in Ecstasy seizures by police and customs (which usually roughly reflect the amount of Ecstasy on sale on the streets). The United States Custom Service is projecting a 1500 percent increase from 1999 to 2000! For the first time since it was legal in the early Eighties, MDMA is popular outside the rave scene, with college students and yuppies throwing E parties. And finally, the drug has made significant inroads into the rap community.

On the face of it, Ecstasy would not appear to be a B-boy drug. MDMA lowers one's emotional defences, promotes feelings of trust and tactile tenderness, defuses aggression. It basically creates the exact opposite mind-body-soul state to rap's paranoid and paramilitary ego, all threats and boasts and psychologically armored readiness for the outbreak of hostilities. It also seems really unlikely that your typical gangsta rapper would enjoy exploring Ecstasy's androgynizing effects--the way it makes men more able to express their emotions, be cuddly and affectionate, talk to women without sex as the primary goal, find it difficult to achieve an erection or have an orgasm. These swoony Ecstasy effects would probably be experienced as traumatic not pleasurable--threatening sensations of weakness, softness, E-masculation. Hip hop's ethos of "keeping it real," its concern with reflecting hardcore street realities of crime and incarceration, also conflicts with rave's Ecstasy-fuelled positivity and utopian hope. This dark-tinted realism was a common attitude in the early jungle scene, which was highly influenced by hip hop values. For many Black British junglists, Ecstasy was "false," a chemical haze of unreality that didn't resonate with their harsh experience of urban life.

Judging by the Ecstasy-inspired lyrics that have emerged from rap so far, though, even MDMA can't teach an old dogg new tricks. The sexual attitudes haven't improved one bit. Dr. Dre's lyric about just dropping an E goes straight into "All these fine bitches equal sex to me/plus I got this bad bitch layin' next to me". In "Ecstasy", Bone MC Flesh rhymes about "feelin’ hot and exotic with an arced cock/ I'm feelin' too sexy for my muthafuckin self/Gotta find my bitch and I’m gonna fuck her ass to death!". There are stories floating around about major ballers and shot-callers in the rap industry who throw parties at their mansions in the Hamptons (an expensive Long Island summer home area favored by Manhattan's wealthy and famous) where Ecstasy is primarily used to get the ladies "in the mood" for multiple-partner sex. As for the violence in rap lyrics, rhymes about guns and murda have not been replaced by spiritualized Ecstasy babble about P.L.U.R. (the American raver's mantra of "peace, love, unity and respect"). Unlike with Britain's reformed football hooligans during 1988's Summer of Love, we've yet to see the emergence of the "love thug" in hardcore hip hop. Perhaps the behavioral codes are too ingrained for rave's smiley-face to replace rap's "screwface"--the menacing scowl-sneer that signifies hip hop culture's taboo on showing your teeth.

Then again, it's early days yet, and Ecstasy is such a powerful drug that it's certain to have some affects on hip hop, both as a culture and as a music. Although jungle eventually adopted an anti-Ecstasy stance (favoring the "organic", herbal highs of marijuana over "chemicals"), as a form of music it could not have existed without its precursor genre, 1991-92 hardcore rave--whose sped up breakbeats and manic barrage of samples were basically "hip hop on E," rather than a mutant form of techno. Add Ecstasy to hip hop again, and the results could be as revolutionary as the emergence of jungle out of rave. Whether as a result of Ecstasy use or just an eerily prophetic prelude, there's been a flood of rap and R&B tracks that feature techno-like sounds and riffs over the last eighteen months: Ja Rule's "Holla Holla" with its snaking, writhing riff that sounds like nothing so much as a Roland 303 acid bassline; the staccato rave-style stabs in Destiny's Child's "Bugaboo," Ginuwine's "What's So Different," and Jay-Z's "Girls' Best Friend"; the house vamps and techno pulses in countless Cash Money tracks by Juvenile, B.G., Hot Boys and Lil Wayne, all produced by Mannie Fresh (who actually worked with Steve 'Silk' Hurley a decade ago).

Most recently Timbaland, who's talked about his fondness for electronica and groups like The Prodigy, has produced three tracks that positively drip with the influence of European Ecstasy culture, if not E itself. Aaliyah's smash hit "Try Again" rolls on a burbling Roland 303; the dirge-bass riff on Jay-Z's "Snoopy Track" makes it a rap "Dominator" or "Mentasm"; Nas featuring Ginuwine's "You Owe Me" has the slinky, lurching flow of 2-step garage. Indeed two-step ought to be the logical bridge between American "urban" (radio programmer code for black) music and house culture, since it is basically UK rave embracing and absorbing US R&B. 2-step garage is where the musical advances made during 10 years of collectively living at the cutting edge of rave's drug-technology interface ("caning it", in plain English slanguage) are now being folded back into the humanist, hypersexual pop sounds that ravers originally broke with to pursue manic sexless drug-noise (starting with acid house). As such 2-step could function for black Americans as a journey in the opposite direction, an acclimatisation phase before they get into Plastikman, Basement Jaxx, or The Mover. (Well, one can only dream, eh?). Actually, Armand Van Helden has been trying singlehandedly to be that demilitarized zone/interface between hip hop and house (he's obsessed with 1989 hip-house as this lost moment of possibility) but so far with zero impact in the US. His B-boy flirtations have even counted against him in the world of American deep house, where they don't want ruffnecks coming to the party (forgiveably, perhaps, given the rampant homophobia in hip hop). House music creeps in through the back door of Lil' Kim's new album The Notorious K.I.M., with tracks based on "French Kiss" by Lil Louis and "Break 4 Love' by Raze, and a pronounced Daft Punk-y flavor to "How Many Licks?"

Finally, OutKast's late 2000 release Stankovia is the first real hip hop example, overt and acknowledged by its creators, of a marked influence from rave music and Ecstasy. Big Boi and Andre 3000 go to raves in the Atlanta, Georgia area and even did field research in London clubs. They gave Stankonia faster b.p.m's than its easy-rolling predecessor Aquemini because "nowadays you got different drugs on the scene. X done hit the hood. It ain't chronic no more. They on some other speed-up type shit.... so that's why the tempo had to get a lot faster." The single "Bombs Over Baghdad" makes a botched if exciting stab at drum'n'bass (they're big fans of Photek) while "?" is a disorientating foray into the jungle: tangled breaks, chirruping synth-blurts, ravey riff-lets.

With the E'd up thugs and thuggettes reputedly drifting from the main floor of the Tunnel into the smaller house'n'techno room that it (god knows why) offers, it could be that the hip hop nation will turn onto electronic dance music big-time, finally ending rap's contempt for house music as mere gay disco. Sonically, the differences between the two forms of music have never been smaller---for instance, both techno and rap have been influenced recently by a revival of interest in Eighties electro. As for the drug's cultural impact.... Ecstasy's "loved up" vibe fits perfectly with hip hop's endless professions of loyalty for the crew, family, click, posse. E will only exaggerate this aspect of blood-brother solidarity and "thug love". But what about the hate side of rap's soul? Can Ecstasy lead to a truce in rap's symbolic warfare? Will "call-that-a-worldview?" couplets like "all I know is that bitches suck dick and niggas bleed" (The Lox) lose their appeal to hearts that no longer feel hard? What can be said safely is that Ecstasy had seemed like a drug that held no more surprises in terms of its cultural effects, given that the clubbing-and-raving industries efficiently channel the energy it catalyzes into tidy profits (eg Gatecrasher, whose slogan is "Market Leaders In Having-It Right Off Leisure Ware"--they might as well just put "Sponsored By Mitshubishi, Nudge Nudge Wink Wink" on the ads). But now that the drug has found its way to one of the few demographic and subcultural zones it had so far left untouched---African-American youth---it could be that Ecstasy has new tricks up its sleeves, new stories to tell, new revolutions to unfurl. (Just wait 'til it hits the dancehall community in Jamaica). Watch this space.....

#rap #drugs #ecstasy #music

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poetryofchrist · 4 years

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Biblical Studies Carnival for July 2020

Biblical Studies Carnival # 173,

An odd, deficient, odious, but balanced prime.* July 2020.

I, your host, did a carnival in February of this year just around Mardi Gras. I closed that carnival with the Quartet for the End of Time. Little did we know what was coming our way, though we had seen early warning signs. Let this carnival be heralding the beginning of the end of the disaster that is upon us. Let it be that we realize how critical is our support of each other, our 'mutual responsibility and interdependence', and how foolish is the thought, and all its attendant actions, that freedom belongs to the individual at the expense of the whole body. Fun? Enjoyment? Carnival atmosphere? Gaiety? Song and Dance? Unlikely, but let's see if some Immersive Distraction is worth the try.

Tanakh.

Michael Avioz writes on translation of place names in Targum Onkelos which

... became so popular in Babylonian rabbinic circles that the Babylonian Talmud requires Jews to read it every week together with the weekly portion, in the law known as שניים מקרא ואחד תרגום, “[read] scripture twice and the translation once” (b. Ber. 8a).

Hagar

Ariel Kopilovitz explores through a review of the war against Midian how the priestly Torah was compiled. Abdulla Galadari explores the intertextual connections of the Quran with the Shema. David Ben-Gad HaCohen explores the region of Ar-Moab. The Velveteen Rabbi comments on man, woman, and vows in parashat Matot. Nyasha Junior reimagines Hagar in her book on Blackness and the Bible. Lawrence Hoffman sends an open letter to his students outlining 5 valuable principles to be learned from 'tradition' and putting them in the context of Amalek and the current stresses on social order.

Thirty years ago, while researching an article on the subject, I asked my teacher and colleague, the late Harry M. Orlinsky, to define “tradition” and he replied, “Tradition is just a lie going back at least a century.”

Your host continues to dig into the music embedded in the text of the Hebrew Bible. Here is an English arrangement and a Hebrew performance of Genesis 22. On the governance of the Body, Pete Ens begins the month with using the Bible to support ...

The stories of Israelite kings match the Trump presidency remarkably well. And the condemnation of their actions by biblical authors is persistent to the point of being tedious.

Elkanah and his wives (I Samuel)

Laura Quick considers the bed of Og the King of Bashan. (Remembering Remnants of Giants, last seen in 2019.) The Medieval Manuscripts blog shows some Old Testament passages from the Rochester Bible. Francis Landy introduces the Prologue to Deutero-Isaiah.

The seven Sabbaths following Tisha B’Av, the fast day commemorating the destruction of the First and Second Temple, are known as שבעה/שב דנחמתא “the seven [Sabbaths] of Consolation.” All the haftarot are taken from Isaiah 40-66, the work of an anonymous exilic prophet (or prophets), who expresses hope for the future rebuilding of Judea and repatriation of its people.

Doug Chaplin gives us a draft prayer card inspired by Jeremiah 12:1 as used by Gerard Manley Hopkins, in his poem “send my roots rain”. Jim Gordon continues his poetry series with A poem for the Sabbath, by Wendell Berry, a little different from Psalm 92. Carmen Joy Imes praises the laments and imprecatory Psalms.

Mark Whiting writes on penitential wisdom in the penitential psalms. The Hebrew versions of the five poems in the book of Lamentations are riddled with debated readings... It's not very often that Lamentations as poetry gets a mention. A real rabbi now with greying whiskers, and also a poet, Rachel Barenblatt, teaches about feelings in this time of destruction as the period of approach to Tisha B'av.

I'm finding it difficult to face Tisha b'Av this year, in part because every time I read the newspaper feels like Tisha b'Av. There's mourning and grief and loss everywhere I look.

Ah in such solitude sits the city. Abundant with people she is as a widow. Abundant from the nations, noble among the provinces, she is into forced service.

Andrew Perriman continues a four year conversation on redefining Daniel. Is there a Unity amidst this diversity. A question by Anthony Ferguson on the state of the text of the Old Testament.

I am going to discuss the non-aligned manuscripts. I hope to show that these manuscripts are largely secondary and dependent on an MT-like text.

Hebrew language: Your host is beginning a series on explaining the transformation of pointed text into 'spelling lacking niqqud' here and here.

Slave

Jonathan Orr-Stav addresses the difficulties of rendering the cantillation in standard characters. In these days of deception, you might enjoy this note on clothing from David Curwin of Balashon. Archaeology: Jim Davila links to a report on seals that may show more about the gradual resettlement and bureaucracy in Jerusalem after its destruction in 586 BCE. He also points out a deep excavation under Jerusalem. Matthew Susnow explores the ancient temples with an essay on What is a ‘House of a God’? Airton José da Silva links to articles on the administrative storage centre from the time of Hezekiah and Manasseh. Ian Paul offers an essay on 'good'.

for all the wondrous joy of this claim about goodness, Genesis 1 chooses not to say ‘it was perfect’.

Canonical Edges

James McGrath reports from day 2 of the Enoch Seminar on the origins of evil.

Cosmic

Day 3 continues here and here from Jim Davila. Day 4 concludes with a response from Jim Davila and a plug for 1 Enoch as Christian Scripture. In James McGrath's report we read of:

degeneration of the generations, i.e. that evil doesn’t come into the world in one fell swoop but gradually over time, and involved(s) groups rather than individuals,

James Tabor reflects on the good and the ugly. Andrew Perriman draws us into cosmic thinking and then back to political reality. If you are hungry, watch this. Making 2000 year old bread. Absolutely marvelous technique.

New Testament

Having mentioned targum for Tanakh, I am reminded of targuman. Christian Brady is now very active in parish work, and posts on drinking the cup. Timothy Lewis asks why some mothers are included and not others in Matthew's first chapter. Bosco Peters continues his Matthew in Slow Motion, Episode 33. Ian Paul writes on the lectionary and the parable of the sower. Jim Gordon writes on invincible ignorance.

"I don't know how to explain to you that you should care for other people." (Dr Anthony Fauci)

Marg Mowczko meditates on meekness in warhorses.

Sickle

In an essay on John as the mundane gospel, Paul Anderson demonstrates now much mundane detail is in John's Gospel. Trinities posts a podcast with Daniel Boyarin on the prologue to John's gospel. Christopher Page continues a series of posts, #86, (and counting) on living with Jesus through the words of John's Gospel. Michael Bird cites Harold Attridge on the beloved disciple. Adele Reinhartz vs. Chris Keith and James Crossley, an online discussion of her book addressing the thesis of Lou Martyn on 'being cast out of the covenant'. Gary Greenberg posts on the case for a proto-gospel and the healing of a blind man in Bethsaida. (via FB and Dr Johnson Thomaskutty. And here is a lecture on the signs in the gospel of John from the Church of South India. Jason Staples writes on 'Reconstituting Israel: Restoration Eschatology in Early Judaism and Paul’s Gentile Mission.'. Second installment here. Andrew Perriman puts glossolalia into a historical framework that "Jerusalem faces a catastrophic judgment".

The gift of speaking in other tongues signifies the extension of Joel’s prophecy beyond geographical Israel to include all Jews who looked to Jerusalem as the centre of their religious life and practice. The city and its spectacular temple would soon be destroyed.

Eyal Regev asks if Christians mourned the destruction of the temple. And if you have forgotten what prosopological means, here's a reminder. James Tabor reminds us with a paper from the 1980s about Paul's words on apotheosis. Christopher Page seems to double this thought with his mid-month 100th pandemic post on Jesus. And to continue the subject, Ian Paul asks what to think of AI. (Homo Deus?) What's in the translator's choices of gloss? Brent Niedergall posts on temptation vs trial. Brian Small notes that Cyril's lost commentary on Hebrews has been found. CSCO has a number of notes on the Oxford Handbook of Pauline Studies. Phillip Long continues his series on Revelation with questions on 'the son of man' and 'the harvests' and 'the final visions'. James Tabor reflects on washed in the blood of the lamb. For another take on Revelation as an orchestral score, and with respect to more recent historical contexts, see Ian Paul on the present crisis. Derek Demars argues that Revelation is a musical!

Miscellaneous

Family

Marc Goodacre teaches by example about fatigue

... one can see an author making characteristic changes to a source at the beginning of a passage, only to lapse into the wording of the source later on.

Jim West has posted Larry Schiffman's lecture on the DSS here. Airton José da Silva announces a new Bible.

Brazilian translation of the famous French “Traduction Oecuménique de la Bible” (TOB) (according to the 12th ed., 2010). It is the model of ecumenical translations, because of the interfaith composition of its collaborators and because it even adapts, for the Old Testament, the Jewish sequence of biblical books. It is an excellent study bible, with rich notes and many references of parallel texts.

And here is an insight into the culture of Biblical Studies in Brazil. Brent Niedergall points to a paper on the CBGM as material for the upcoming virtual SBL annual meeting. And for more on CBGM, see Brent Nongbri's article here. The cosmologist Bishop of Rhode Island, Nicholas Knisely, expresses a hope that we can go beyond our self-images, on his blog, Entangled States. More than a little uncertainty in the referent in the blog name. James McGrath writes on Academic genealogies. Ken Schenck continues his review of the works of his doctoral advisor, Jimmy Dunn, finishing on the twelfth day. Helen Bond remembers Jimmy Dunn. James Tabor traces his history of learning Greek from age 17 to 74. This spring chicken explains how 'older is not better', and that Westcott and Hort are seen by some today as part of 'a “plot from hell” to destroy God’s truth'. (See also a later version here.) This post on his 'first book' is too good to pass up. The first week of July presented several posts which seemed to be strong on issues peripherally related to the Bible, but grounded in the questions raised by our persistence with its content: So a note by Ian Paul on the priesthood (presbyter), running the risk of self-justification but showing the stuff of Cranmer, and on the meaninglessness of life in response to facing death, by Christopher Page, and on manufacturing belief, a documentary in which many famous appear, noted by Bart Ehrman. There is even a commentary by OUP on being prepared. Nicely juxtaposed is Phillip Long's note for the day on the winepress. Westar Think Tank Fellow, Terrence Dean interviews Nontombi Naomi Tutu: Five current questions. On issues of gender in Biblical Studies, note this discussion with the title, Sarah Rollens and Candida Moss vs Chris Keith here.

Books

Abel Mordechai Bibliowicz has made a pdf available on Jewish-Christian Relations-The First Centuries.

Bart Ehrman talks about his book, Heaven and Hell: A History of the Afterlife, in a long podcast on Reason and Theology. (Take care with whom you chose to spar.) His blog also has a guest post by Cavan Concannon on the Bible Museum.

Not to be outdone, Tyndale house is starting a new podcast series on Trusting the Bible.

April Deconick notes a new book on Jewish Roots of Eastern Christian Mysticism.

Marg Mowczko notes a new book Holding Up Half the Sky.

Stephen Nadler reviews Spinoza.

Reuven Chaim Klein reviews Pharoah, Biblical History, Egypt, and the Missing Millennium, reworking the chronology of traditional Egyptology.

Jim Davila highlights a review of Fredriksen's When Christians were Jews. A good review that I missed from last month's feeds. A good book, too, I am sure.

Brent Niedergall reviews The Greek of the Pentateuch by John A. L. Lee.

Richard Briggs reviews John R. Levinson's The Holy Spirit before Christianity

In a study that is both poignant and provocative, Levison takes readers back five hundred years before Jesus, where he discovers history’s first grasp of the Holy Spirit as a personal agent. The prophet Haggai and the author of Isaiah 56–66, in their search for ways to grapple with the tragic events of exile and to articulate hope for the future, took up old exodus traditions of divine agents―pillars of fire, an angel, God’s own presence―and fused them with belief in God’s Spirit. ... Like most (if not all?) good New Testament ideas, the Old Testament got there first.

Unavoidable

In Memoriam: Alister McGrath has written an obituary for James Packer, certainly a man of some influence and who was known by many in the far west of Canada including former blogger, Suzanne McCarthy most recently of BLT, not just a sandwich. (I knew I could get a bit more poetry in this carnival somehow. I'd rather have good poetry than bad tattoos with lots of ads any day.) ... August is coming up, not April, that cruelest month ...

Next Carnivals

Phil is always looking for volunteers. Fun or not, spending a month actually reading the bloggy scholars and the scholarly blogs is an education... Occasionally, people actually suggest posts too. Chris Brady began the month with a post comparing Facebook to the old blogging community with vigorous discussion of issues in the comments and among the blogs. He also announces the upcoming virtual SBL.

August 2020 – Phillip Long, Reading Acts

September 2020 – Brent Niedergall (who is beginning a video series on James.)

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